


DontOpen.exe

by Uber_name



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Gen, Hacking, Loki Redemption, Loki is Not Amused, Manipulative Loki, Nick Fury Swears, Nick Fury is Not Amused, Original Character(s), Post-Avengers (2012), Pre-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Rating May Change, Thor Is a Good Bro, Tony Being Tony, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-01
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-02-19 13:36:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 52,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2390231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Uber_name/pseuds/Uber_name
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A hacker accidentally gets SHIELDs attention after a botched intrusion, but manages to leak the information to the public. After years of being routinely hacked and unable to arrest the culprit, Fury figures that the best way to capture an evasive megalomaniac is to get another evasive megalomaniac to go after them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I was a decent hacker. I wasn’t the best of the best, but I was really up there ya’know? What made me better than most though, wasn’t so much that I wrote better codes, but that I knew how normal people think. The problem with the best of the best is that beyond their point of hiding a virus and getting out, they don’t know much else because they’ve dedicated all their time to that skill. They don’t understand how a normal person would see a virus, or react to it. They’ve gotten so used to their point of view that they can’t take another’s. 

That’s how I always got back out. If I saw someone had found my bug and tried to get rid of it – or traced it back, I’d have pre-laid rabbit trails for them. Keystrokes – if you think you see a virus what’s the first thing you do? Google it, right? Or panic and run your store-bought anti-malware? Shut off the computer? Force quit the program? Try to find where it’s coming from? That’s exactly what I want you to do.

I’d block those programs. Or better yet, make you think they’re running. Even better – when you run those programs, you infect yourself even more. Sometimes they’re dormant viruses – “daemons” that sit in the background until you complete an action, like open word or something. The minute you do that? Boom, activated. And it does what I tell it to, and you don’t even know it. 

But it’s not like I stare at a computer 24/7. These programs run themselves; I just put them in place. Most of the fun comes from creating the viruses, trying to configure backdoors, coming up with new ways to get around your store-bought anti-virus thingies. Those are annoying, but there’s almost always a way around them if you really want to get in. They’re good for blocking your less-than-average hacker who hasn’t updated his stuff in a while; and programs change daily. Updates to your systems and protection have to be monitored or we become outdated very quickly. 

But I’m not interested in the files of questionable pictures you’ve got hidden away, or that email you sent last week. Like I said, I’m not in front of a screen all the time – and unless you’ve got your credit card information in that email, chances are I’ll never even look at it. If I am using your computer though, it’s most likely just being used as a portal. We call your type of computer a zombie – it’s infected, it’s dormant, and it’s used to infect other computers. It’s why you’re supposed to logoff Facebook all the time, and change your passwords once every month. That type of stuff is good for slowing down lazy hackers. 

I’m not a lazy hacker. I am a tad overzealous though, and I bit off more than I could chew a few years ago. All my programs and viruses were up-to-date, my zombie computers sitting idly by, trapdoors in place, Trojans ready to go. I had distractions for my distractions – I was so damn sure no one was ever gonna see me. I was gonna go do the biggest hack of all time – I’d be a hacking god. I had thought about doing a slightly smaller hack before my big one, but I didn’t want to show my hand before the time. I don’t know what possessed me to hack SHIELD, of all places. Maybe one of my daemons got loose. Ha, get it?

Anyways, I did it. I sent an email to the one of the SHIELD PR people – Mark, from Amanda, who had contaminated her work computer when she drag and dropped an infected excel chart from her flashdrive, which had been stuck into her equally infected PC. Mark opened it, of course, he was infatuated with Amanda. That wasn’t luck - she was one of the few people whose email I monitored. Mark infected his work computer with the email, which buried a cute little daemon in his D drive. Any CDs he stuck in there were screwed; and he did stick a lot of CDs into his work computer. They, in turn, were stuck into other work computers, which was only half the plan. It was good to have all these zombie computers – they were my distractions. They would lure and confuse whatever anti-malware stuff SHIELD had concocted (probably not store-bought) and keep it at bay and away from the main bug. Or even better, they would infect the anti-virus. You can do that. I’d check your systems if I were you. Make sure there aren’t any exceptions under the programs that it checks... unless they’ve hidden those from your view.

Not many of the computers stayed infected though – it turned out that SHIELDS stuff was actually really good. But my bugs adapted, and some hit home and buried themselves in programs that were overlooked by the firewalls and whatnot. One made it into the anti-virus, and the anti-virus promptly shut itself down – making the system vulnerable for exactly .0003 seconds (the time it took itself to execute a previous version of itself). The backup never made it – because that’s where my “normal people skills” came in. Wouldn’t it make sense, if you found out that you were infected, to revert back to a previous state where you weren’t? Wouldn’t that mean that the first place you should infect isn’t the program itself, but it’s backup?

It was sketchy, trapdoors are tricky to install and sometimes the first type of bug to be detected; but they’re invaluable. They do exactly what you think they do, they install a backdoor, a sort of hole in your system that allows other bugs – from you or another hacker – inside. And for the six hours that it took the tech group to realize that they were compromised, my virus ran amok. Like a, quiet amok though - they weren’t supposed to know I was there. 

And then the shit hit the fan. They were good. They traced everything, all the way back, through every digital footprint that my stupid virus left. Instead of destroying the virus and bugs like most programs do, they followed its trail through all the files and programs it walked through, back out the trapdoor, the two hundred and fifty seven people with the zombie computers, Mark’s computer, and Amanda’s computer. They detained her and demanded to know why she had planted a bug in the system. She had no idea. Why would she, she was just a helpless PR lady.

They confiscated her stuff. SHIELD can do that apparently. They got on her computer and went through everything. Emails, internet history, questionable photos, flashdrives, and charts - they found my chart that I had attached to my fake resume. It had bug footprints all over it; my bug’s footprints. 

They traced the IP address – basically it’s your computers unique name. Of course I didn’t use my own, but I did install my own programs onto it – how else was I supposed to get the bug through? That computer was tracked and taken into custody – even though I had smashed the hard drive and tossed it when I realized what they were doing. Without that, their trail stopped cold. But they had a huge piece of evidence; they had captured my daemons and trapdoors and didn’t destroy them – they picked them apart. Kind of like analyzing who painted a picture by watching the brushstrokes and looking at similar works of art by the same artist. It’s one of the few reasons that I’m glad I didn’t hack someone else before moving on to SHIELD – they would’ve recognized my work.

Unfortunately when it came to SHIELD though, my “normal people” skills failed. These were not normal people – they didn’t give up because they couldn’t find the source. They just tried even harder. That… might have something to do with the type of information that I stole though. And what I did with it.

I had dumped it. When I realized how ridiculously insane these people were I just dropped everything right into the internet. I scattered it over thousands of websites – as a background, a redirect site, a file that randomly just downloaded when you clicked on some obscure domain. It made rabbit trails and wild goose-chases for them to go after, instead of going after me. I was so lucky when a few “clever” people pulled together all the information they found and pooled it in different places. SHIELD would come in and shut down those websites with the info, but they kept popping up until the perpetrators were brought in. They were tried – but they weren’t the hacker. The trials took up most of SHIELDS attention for a good four years, and I even saw Fury himself one night on the TV, clearly trying to contain himself as he talked about how he would capture whoever was responsible for the security breach.

I knew it would never end – we were all so equally matched. But all I had to do was watch my step; and as long as they didn’t do something completely insane and I didn’t fuck up, we’d remain an equal distance away from each other. And we did – for seven long years they never got any closer to the hacker, and I was able to lead a semi-normal low-profile hacking life. 

But it turned out the “I” in SHIELD did stand for insane, and the “D” for desperate. Because that was the only reason for Fury to currently be glaring out at me from the TV, standing alongside the same god who nearly killed us all not that long ago.


	2. Chapter 2

I’d been in denial. I never believed that it was really Loki, or that SHIELD was allowed to disregard even our most basic rights and just arrest people at random. I ignored it because it seemed too far-fetched, and because I thought I was safe behind my college-dropout-gas-station-night-manager veneer. Then again, I should have known better; their morals were greyed and I was technically considered a terrorist. 

The Public Service Announcement had ended with Fury announcing a ‘short term truce’ with Loki, in which he would be assisting SHIELD in hunting the hacker down. They’d all been escorted off stage, with Loki throwing a casual smirk out to the camera amid the sudden uproar of panic and pandemonium. New York had a collective heart attack, the public took to the streets, and from the helicarrier it was hard to tell if the orange spider-webbing city night light was due to streetlamps or firelight. 

It was debatable whether or not this was the reaction that SHIELD had hoped for, but no one could deny that they weren’t prepared for it. Larger cities with their hyperventilating populace suddenly found themselves surrounded by black vans with agents spilling out, and mid-sized towns like my own had at least five agents patrolling the more important buildings. Terrified citizens were essentially bullied into peace without any explanation; and the Avengers were nowhere to be seen.

My guess was that they were up in SHIELDS space ship pretending to guard Loki. Or at least the actor pretending to be Loki; the whole situation seemed like a scare tactic intended to frighten me out of hiding. Best case scenario, Fury probably hoped that I’d turn myself in and beg them not to sic their scary god on me. Based on the agent’s reaction though, he seemed to expect nothing short of ‘no response’ from the hacker. 

I’ll give them this though; they did technically get a response from me – which might end up being my downfall. I had initially panicked along with everyone else, and took to the internet to figure out just what the hell. That was my damning step; in my panicked daze I went to the one place I was sure would have answers - the hacking community (which was abuzz like the kicked hornets’ nest that it was). These were the people that would be affected most by SHIELDS sudden move; of course they’d look to one another with a “what the hell do we do now?” expression carved into their digital faces. 

I realized a second too late that these were the exact sites that SHIELD would be tracking. I’ve never ripped a modem apart faster in my life. But it was too late by then, my computer had made a ping in their servers and I was now present and accounted for. Sure, I was now one in a billion – but one in a billion is a lot worse that none in a billion when you’re trying to hide. 

~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~

It seemed impossible, but the inside of the helicarrier was nearly as chaotic as the streets it hovered over. Agents scurried around dragging reams of papers with numbers and names attached, tripped over wires, and fell face-first into screens that emitted a sickly green glow. The director stood in the middle of it all, somehow dodging the spilled coffee, flailing limbs, and sheets of paper raining from above. Fury glanced up to the bridge that spanned over the control center to see a fallen agent attempt to gather his runaway papers back into a box. 

Three of the Avengers had themselves pressed up against a wall, keeping out of the way and a wary eye on the unorthodox member chained to one of the chairs. Once again, Loki seemed to be the only one enjoying his time on the helicarrier. No one else present was cheerful, least of all the Avengers. Not a single one of them had approved Fury’s plan to bring Loki back to earth; but when Fury fetched him regardless of their input, they found themselves thrust into the position of being Loki’s babysitters. 

To be fair (and if you judged it by the chaos that ensued), Loki had so far behaved himself and upheld his end of the deal to help Fury shake the hacking community. Fury had also foreseen the massive public outcry that Loki’s plan would cause, and reacted accordingly. Seven years of research into various hacking attempts and the coming and goings of the community as a whole had given SHIELD a vague idea of where to start looking once the shit hit the fan. They were now into the process of wire-tapping and tailing persons of interest, both within and without the US. If substantiated as possibly being the hacker, these people would be moved down the line to have their backgrounds checked, family checked, alibi checked – everything. If they ‘passed’ and there was great probable cause that they were the hacker – they’d be put into SHIELDS ‘program’. Not one at a time though – all the possibilities would be scooped up at once to avoid them warning one another.

The goal of the program was to have all the possible hackers join SHIELD and through a process of elimination smoke the real hacker (or hackers) out. That was Loki’s job once they all arrived; either in the helicarrier or one of shields bases depending on how many there were. Fury’s reasoning was that one slippery bastard could easily recognize another.  
Also he really was desperate.

~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~

It took a few days, but after talking myself down from destroying everything electronic within a three mile radius, I managed to fall back into my regular routine. I’d sleep until three PM, bum around the house, and then leave for work around nine PM. I used to gas station’s Wifi to look up on SHIELDS current events on Google’s news page; and it took a great deal of self-control not to go back to the chatrooms. I knew for a fact that there was a hacker on one of the sites who worked in SHIELD; and I also knew that he was first and foremost, more hacker than SHIELD. I bet he knew more about what was going on than anyone else. I’d kill to get a hold of him.

I originally thought the riots would’ve lasted much longer, but the SHIELD agents were very thorough. It died down in a little under three months; and nowadays there were only the occasional cop cars and black vans rolling through. In the beginning the agents had crawled through the cities until the public either felt safe enough or more terrified than before - and then suddenly moved on. From the traffic in the cities though, their movement seemed random. Some bigger cities with more riots had less SHIELD agents than some smaller towns. Our one initially only had five agents - but now there were eleven… and they all hung around the military records tower. While I’m sure that military records are very important; I knew for a fact that the only thing that building held was receipts for military supplies and audio logs. It’s an odd place for a party. 

I wondered when they’d be going back to whatever point they’d spawned from, but they stayed a full year after Fury had appeared on TV. Their movement remained as vague as ever, with odd conglomerations of them going through the records tower and then driving off again. They’d sometimes roll up in their vans and buy some gas, cigarettes, soft drinks – they seemed human almost. Well, I only ever saw one or two; but I heard from the day manager that they had driven up demand by fifty percent – they preferred this gas station to the other (which he insisted was because he was such an attractive person). Personally, I thought it was just because this one was a whole ten miles closer than the other - but what do I know. 

The agents eventually left the surrounding areas – save ours and another town over. The ones that left the other towns all seemed to pool into ours and the one over; I was beginning to think that SHIELD had claimed that building as their own. It wouldn’t surprise me - they had a habit of doing whatever they want. But there they stayed, unmoving and ultimately forgettable, for a full year. Their black vans no longer surprised me when they pulled up, and the oddness of them coming in and buying Funions and Skittles in the middle of the night eventually wore off. I should’ve recognized it for what it really was – the calm before the storm. 

~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~

There was an odd peace that had settled over the agents in the helicarrier. After a full year, Loki had finally been moved to the below ground facility that the hackers would be introduced to. There had been too many in the end for Fury to safely contain on the helicarrier – nearly three hundred in all. That number was a lot smaller than what had originally been projected, but in order for Loki’s plan to work they needed room for five hundred total, plus the regular SHIELD agents. The helicarrier just wasn’t a feasible option at that point. 

“Could be a good thing,” Bruce had commented in the end. “There’s so much technology up there – say they hack that too…”  
Fury had grumbled an agreement and moved the Avengers, Loki, the agents that he wanted for the operation, as well as regular field agents to keep the control - all back down to earth. With the initial phase of the plan through, he intended to move on. And the helicarrier was now stress and Loki-free to send out a mass missive to the remaining agents in their cities to move in on their targets.


	3. Chapter 3

Blistering, sunny, ninety two degrees, no cloud cover or a lick of breeze to boot. The SHIELD agent sighed and tilted his head to allow the cool air from the AC to roll under his collar. He supposed it was his good fortune that he was tailing a hacker who worked at a gas station – because this van was going to be on and running its AC all day. 

On and running didn’t mean on and driving though. This target had an incredibly unimpressive routine; everyday they entered the apartment complex around seven in the morning, slept until three or four in the afternoon, watched TV or some other sort of entertainment until about eight, and then left for the gas station at nine. Work, home, sleep; lather, rinse, repeat… there was no deviation. He couldn’t imagine how they could stand it. The agent couldn’t stand it and he wasn’t even the one who partook in the routine. And judging from the complete lack of mail or visitors (besides the day manager from the gas station who sometimes came over) there wasn’t much social interaction either. A full year of this bullshit; the agent had groaned in relief when he got the notification to move in on the potential. 

He wasn’t the only one who watched this target though, all of the agents rotated between the two others in the area. One of the other targets had been much more active than the other two combined – hacked bank accounts, stole people’s identities – the whole shebang. He even burgled houses to boot, just because he could hack through the alarms. He didn’t even steal anything except for a curtain once. He’d been arrested a month earlier because of the home invasion and run through a simplified version Fury’s program… and denied. Even though his alibi had made him a potential and he had all the credentials of being a damn good hacker, he was tossed out because… well he didn’t know. Unfortunately he didn’t have the clearance to know how Fury decided people weren’t the target. 

The agent sighed and jacked the AC up higher. He still had another two hours before backup came to help him make an arrest. He wished it would go faster, this job was getting boring and his target was stagnant. Well, he was privy to their internet traffic and knew that they had logged into a confirmed hacking site the day of the PSA with Loki and Fury; so they weren’t totally dead to their world. But after that there was nothing, like they’d just decided they didn’t care. The agent had a feeling this target wouldn’t make it through the program either. 

A movement from the second story window caught his eye. Wow… the agent marveled, up a whole three hours early today, are we? They deserved a medal for deviating so far from the routine.

~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~

I couldn’t rest; it was just too hot and muggy and painful to sleep. Also I’d drunk three cans of some off-brand energy drink during my shift to stay awake. That might be it as well. Also this pillow was so uncomfortable and there was this crick in my neck that just refused to go away... I tilted my head to the side until I heard a soft crack and rubbed the base of my neck. That didn’t help much. Now it hurt by my jaw as well. And all these goddamn sheets!

I gave my beauty rest up as a lost cause and rolled out of bed, dragging the traitorous blankets along as I stumbled groggily out of the bedroom. These need to go to the laundry. They were kicked unceremoniously in the general direction of the laundry basket by the front door, but just landed at the halfway mark in the living room. Ignoring them, I made my way kitchen where the fridge beckoned with promises of freshly squeezed oranges and all the other glories that a first world fridge could offer. The fun part about working in a small shop was having all the basics covered at any given time. Need milk? Wait for shift to start. I told myself it wasn’t stealing because the pay was more criminal than I.

What truly was criminal though was this godforsaken heatwave. The orange juice was abandoned momentarily so that I could waft aside the curtains in my living room and reach the dials of the AC unit sticking out my window. Better. The cool air blasted over me and I couldn’t help but stick my face right up to the grill. Much better.

~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~

Thirty minutes, just thirty minutes. No more sitting in cars and cramped vans, listening to the static of the wire-tapped phone calls or whatever this pop music was. He glared at the agent besides him from behind the safety of his tinted sunglasses. Backup had arrived thirty minutes early, and sending them back could have potentially caused a scene – so they stayed. One of the agents that had been sent over in the van had abandoned his vehicle in favor for the first agent’s undercover car. Talk about blowing cover. He even had the audacity to turn the radio on. 

The incredibly incognito black van had at least had the sagacity to park five blocks down. He hoped they sweated terribly in their bulletproof vests. If there was one thing he couldn’t stand it was their lack of professionalism. That and stagnation. And criminals. Well obviously, he wouldn’t be one of SHIELDS most upwardly mobile agent if he didn-  
“Heard you got a promotion.”  
He’s making small talk!? At a time like this?!   
“Congratulations.”  
“...Yeah.”   
Silence.  
“It’d look good on your record,” the unprofessional agent continued, “if you brought the hacker in.”  
“It’d look good on anyone’s record.”  
“Yeah but you’re really-”  
“Let’s just finish this first alright?”

The chastised agent shifted uncomfortably in his seat and muttered, “Well I just figured since you put the most into this one you should have your name printed in bold on the records.”  
The first agent sighed, simultaneously shamefaced for snapping at the intruder, and annoyed that he felt uncomfortable for snapping. “Listen, this guy just isn’t it ya’know? Call it intuition. But…” he shrugged dismissively, “…thanks anyhow.” He mumbled, and glanced out his window.

They sat there in awkward silence for the rest of their time together until two in the afternoon; mass show time. Every single target was about to be simultaneously arrested.  
“Hey hey!” The agents in the black van suddenly cackled through the radio. “Show time guys! Big boss says move in.”  
The first agent rolled his eyes and pressed the talk button hard. “Ten four.”

~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~

The knock at the door was loud enough to disturb the fish in their bowl.   
“Coming!” A small voice piped up from the other side of the door. The agents at the back shifted the guns in their hand, while the ones in the front waited with cuffs unclasped. They didn’t expect much resistance, but this was mandatory. One of them actually felt sorry for the target.   
“Can I help-” A short mousy looking boy opened the door cheerily, “AH!”  
“Mister Keys?” An agent drawled.  
“Uh… No?” The boy tried closing the door.  
“Please don’t resist us.” The agent leaned forward and placed the cuffs on his bony wrists. “You’re under arrest for suspicion of cyber terrorism, computer fraud, identity theft, and pirating films.”  
“Haha, what about loitering?” He asked nervously.  
The agent stared at him blankly. The boys visage was that of a very underdeveloped fifteen year old – not the late twenty something that his birth records indicated he was. “This is not a joke Mister Keys. You have the right to remain silent…”

~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~

The door was clearly not about to be opened. The agents that formed the first wall parted to allow the ones in the back to kick in the door.   
“Freeze!” they shouted once they’d breached the entryway, “Hand’s where we can see them!”  
The young man stood in the middle of the room with his hands raised. He smiled at them apologetically and shrugged at the TV on the wall. “Can I finish this or..?”  
What is with these people, and their damn notion of invincibility? The agent with the cuffs relished the feeling of tugging the targets arms behind his back. He’d been an asshole to tail.

“Mister Draper?” The agent asked, snapping the cuffs closed.  
“That’d be me, but,” he winced as his arms were tugged up higher, “aren’t you gonna-”  
“You’re wanted for multiple counts of computer fraud and cyber terrorism, you have the right to remain silent…”

~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~

“Mister Beckett?”  
The wispy white-haired elderly gentleman sighed and held out his wrists. “It was bound to happen eventually.”  
“Thank you for your cooperation… you’re wanted on several counts of cyber terrorism - you have the…”

~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~

“Miss Dweller?”  
“Well shit.” Miss Dweller suddenly slammed her phone into the wall besides the door.   
The agent was a bit taken aback by the sudden movement, and quickly realized that she’d just tried to destroy some evidence. “Miss Dweller you have the ri-”  
“Yeah, okay, let’s just go…” She thrust her hands in his direction and sighed dramatically. “What’re the charges?”  
One of the agents from the back walked around the two to bag the destroyed phone. “Drug possession, armed robbery, computer fraud, identity theft, pirating entertainment, involuntary manslaughter…”  
“What, no-”  
“And prostitution.”  
“There it is.” 

 

~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~

“Mister Pierce…?”   
An agent pushed open the door – it wasn’t even locked. He glanced around the room and stepped aside to let the rest of the agents through. They moved swiftly through the rooms and checked the hiding spots for the target. “Not here.”  
The first agent held up the radio, “Target’s rabbited.”  
A response cackled through his earpiece, and the surrounding agents looked to him expectantly. “Base heard him ping at an ATM downtown.” They nodded and headed back to the vans - finally, some action. 

~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~

Of course I went quietly. It threw me off though; I’ve always considered myself to be pretty perceptive. To find out that SHIELD had been tailing me for a full year without my knowledge is… karma, almost. I vaguely remember doing something similar to them once. Was I going to confess everything and turn into a bubbling ball of mush though?  
Hell no.

The agent sitting on the opposite end of the table clearly didn’t expect so much as a peep either. He was incredibly polite though, and even asked if I preferred to be referred to by my birth name or one of the other’s that I’d stolen. I think he only did that so he could show off that he knew of every name I had taken. After that, the intake seemed to go as any other would. 

“DOB, height… yadda yadda… got any relatives…?” He droned down the list of questions. It seemed arbitrary – he clearly already knew the answers.   
“You tell me.”   
The agent sighed and rubbed his eyes. He had the patience of a saint I’d give him that. No matter how many times I acted like an impudent child his voice remained flat and he just tried to explain again, for the umpteenth time, that he merely would like to confirm everything. The bags under his eyes indicated that he at least needed a pick me up though.  
“You know,” I said, giving him a half-smile, “if you release me I could get you a cup of coffee from the gas station.” We both knew that would get me nowhere, but I was just trying to seem like less of an asshole at that point. I don’t like being impolite. 

“As wonderful as that sounds,” he said, tiredly eyeing the paper before him, “I don’t think Fury would be very impressed.”  
“But I’m innocent.”  
He sighed again and flipped a page over. “Let’s see… multiple counts of embezzlement, identity theft, and one count of cyber terrorism-”  
“Alleged cyber terrorism.” I insisted.   
He flicked through the small pile and then picked one from the middle of the stack and pulled it out. “Eeeer…” he said eyeing it up close before pushing it across the table so that I could see it. “Look,” he poked at a line of numbers, “you’re looking at three life sentences right now – even if you aren’t the hacker.”  
Well shit, he’s got me there. 

But it made no sense. If he had all the evidence and already had me captured… why not just lock me up now? Like he said; there was a chance that I was the hacker – why not just put me away for something unrelated and leave it at that? The hacker would be out of the picture, SHIELD would be happy - why was he trying to make it seem like there was some other option? I wondered vaguely about the chances of him giving me a straight answer if I asked him.  
“So… why don’t you arrest me then?”  
He deadpanned for a second like he hadn't heard me, and then burst into laughter. “Arrest? You? Haha ha- ow.” He massaged his cheeks. “Oh that’s good.”  
Rude little shit.  
“But we are arresting you, it’s happening right now. You’re very much about to go to jail.”  
Oh.  
“Um… do I get a lawyer? Or something?”  
He snorted. “Yeah, sure.”

~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~

I actually didn’t have a lawyer; nor did I know how to find one. It was quite possible that I did have a lawyer, but somehow misplaced him or never paid attention to the lawyer lecture my mother had given me when I was an adult. These are the things they should teach in school. But alas, I was handcuffed and trundled out of the county jail without so much as a phone call, and escorted into my own private armored vehicle with a fat SHIELD-eagle painted on the side. 

Some crazed and desensitized part of my mind was flattered; but thankfully the louder and saner part was still panicking. They helped me up into the back of it – which had less to do with them being good-mannered and more to do with the fact that the ankle-cuffs limited anything beyond a shuffle – and moved me to the far back of the van. There were already six other agents inside, which seemed incredibly unnecessary, and they all wore bulky vests and bulkier guns. They looked like the people who arrested me earlier. Everyone looked like the people who arrested me earlier. 

The thick metal doors swung shut with an oddly unsatisfying clink noise, and the agent nearest to me suddenly banged on the cab side wall. The floor rumbled beneath my feet, and the car slowly took off – destined… wherever. I dearly wanted to ask where we were going or how long it would take, but both fear and common sense kept me silent. I shut my eyes and instead rested my head against the metal wall, wondering if I could daydream this car ride through. It was terribly uncomfortable because the vibrations from the wheels were making my nose itch… but I just put my head back and I was acutely aware that I had just moved my body a second ago and moving again would seem strange. Ohmygosh my nose. I could feel tears begin to prick at the edges of my eyes, it was so damn itchy-

My whole frame rocked forward as I sneezed, and I jerked back up the second I realized what I’d just done. I glanced up to find six guns not quite pointing at me, but very much close to it. They eased back down and eyed me warily as I leaned back against the wall - careful to keep my head upright. I’d just have to stare at my hands the whole time. And these seats. Now my backside had a cramp; this wouldn’t end. I swear; Fury must’ve made this vehicle with the hacker in mind. Eight years of pent up rage poured into a custom built car with hard plastic benches and rumbling walls and a severe lack of windows. 

This was a good a place as any to come up with an escape plan – I doubted I’d be getting much alone time soon after this.


	4. Chapter 4

Okay, so, apparently I didn’t have the whole story before. I had thought I was being arrested because SHIELD _knew_ that I was the hacker. Well it turns out I was only being arrested because they _thought_ I was the hacker. There were actually five hundred other people that Fury _thought_ was the hacker. These people were it – these guys were the best of the best that I aspired to be. My infiltration into SHIELD had been a success less because of skill and more of cunning and brute force. Granted, it took some amount of skill; but the people I was pooled with now were gods. Literally and figuratively.   
  
Loki was apparently a real thing too. I desperately wished for him to be a fantastic actor; but there was no other explanation for the chills that you could get from his presence before even seeing him, or the freakish way he seemed to look right through you from a mile away. To be fair that could just be me and my self-fulfilling prophecy; I thought the actor to be scary so therefore he was – but _everyone_ reacted the same way.   
  
Luckily, I didn’t meet the guy one-on-one. After being released from my mobile prison, I’d been escorted into the penitentiary grounds along with everyone else and paraded past the Avengers, Fury, Loki, and what looked like a bajillion guards. They had overlooked us filing in from a platform up above, judging us silently. I kept my head bowed and focused on the heels of the person in front of me that I was chained to. I felt like I was being sentenced to death.   
  
“Hey,” someone in front of me hissed as we passed through the doors and out of the eyesight of Avengers and company.   
I lifted my eyes up but remained silent.   
“Heeeyyy.” He whispered again hoarsely.   
_Nope_. I was going to be a good little hacker and hope Fury didn’t pick me to be the guilty one.  
“C’mon, don’t be such a pus-”  
“Shaddup!” One of the sideline guards came up and shoved him roughly on the shoulder. It was a dick move; the whole line was jerked sideways as well because we were all chained together. Blabbermouth straightened and glared weakly at the offensive guard before he continued on his way without another word, while the people around us grumbled sullenly.  
 _Making friends on day one already_.  
  
We were broken up by gender on the way deeper into the penitentiary and escorted to the showers… still chained. It was the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever experienced. Everyone kept their eyes glued to the floor and made as little noise as possible, like they hoped they could cease to exist by not making a sound. After that ordeal we were given a grey prison uniform and thrust a tower of linen to make our beds with. Again we were shuffled forward and taken to our cells; which apparently was _not_ segregated by gender. It was sort of a mish mash of whatever; men with men, women with women, women with men. It didn’t seem entirely safe, but then again there were cameras _everywhere_. Any intolerable behavior could be cracked down upon instantly by any one of the guards positioned nearby.   
  
The atmosphere remained one of pained silence. Most people will still red in the ears from the shower and it seemed a fair few were unimpressed with their bunkmates as well. It was two to cell, and I had been hooked up to a short- blond haired late twenty-something year old woman. We nodded a greeting and managed to forge some kind of symbiotic relationship by helping each other tuck the sheets onto the beds. They were just an inch too short and came untucked on one side when you pulled the other side under. It seemed so far that that was how most things operated in this facility; workable… but annoyingly _not quite_. The water had been lukewarm, the uniform sleeves bunched awkwardly under the arms; one of the stair steps had been just a centimeter taller than the rest and literally _everyone_ tripped on it. It was a relief when they called lights out and the world was enveloped in complete darkness. Finally, SHIELD got something right.  
 _‘Torres’,_ she murmured breathlessly when the lights were fully off.   
‘ _Cambell’_ , I’d muttered back, picking one from the thousands of surnames that I’d stolen.   
  
~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~  
  
The SHIELD prison was practically a tribute to the Avengers ability to work together. The layout of the facility had been Banner’s idea, the routine and positioning of the guards had been Clint’s; while the near two hundred and fifty undercover agents posing as hackers had been Natasha’s idea. Tony and Banner had worked together to create the security system, and Thor had done a wonderful job of making sure Loki didn’t do anything stupid. Loki had spent most of his time assisting Fury with locating the potentials and had the last minute brilliant idea to make the facility, for lack of a better word, functionally infuriating. Fury had planned their day to day routines - and that included waking everyone up at four in the morning.   
  
The banging on the doors was loud enough to wake the dead. Torres jerked awake with a curse while I arose slowly and fully rested while the rest of the world griped about the ungodly hour. According to my seven yearlong routine I had just slept through work, and it felt amazing.   
“Get dressed!” A guard shouted and continuously banged on the doors down the hall. “Breakfast is in ten!”  
“Uh…” I muttered and glanced over to my cellmate.  
  
She got up, stretched, and turned her back on me to get dressed. We quickly climbed into our fabulous prison onsies with just enough time to thrust on our shoes before we were escorted down into what looked like an auditorium – stage and all. Judging by the folded rolly-tables on the edges of the wall, it probably also doubled up as the cafeteria. _The tables should… probably be down if we’re going to eat_.  
  
There were quite a few guards positioned all along the walls, as well us up above on the catwalks. It looked like the second level of the cafeteria was off-limits to us, but there were guards glaring down at us from up there as well. We waited ten minutes before the shuffling stopped and Fury suddenly showed up on stage. It was like the PSA all over again, except this time it was Fury in the background and Loki giving the speech.   
  
The god of mischief had strutted up and completely ignored the microphone, instead opting for looking over us with a grin that was about as genuine as he was compassionate. The room collectively held its breath as he held his position in the front of the room for a minute. “Welcome,” he finally spoke and made a small sweeping motion, “to your new home.”   
There were multiple soft hissing noises from somewhere in the crowd, like they were trying to hold back from shouting. Loki simply smiled and focused on some poor soul and continued his speech.   
“This is your new home.” He repeated to them firmly, “and this is your new family.” He looked up from whatever person he’d been terrorizing and focused again on the room in general. “You’ll eat together, you’ll sleep together, you’ll live together – and,” he grinned impishly, “if you’re all _very_ unlucky; you’re going to die together.”  
  
This time there was an outcry from somewhere in the room, and one of the chained lines lurched forward as somebody tried to move towards the front. A couple armed guards wrestled the line back into place, and came back dragging a shrieking girl out of the room. The rest of us descended into hushed mutterings that ended up being quite loud when all combined. Loki shot out a glare out and the room fell back into silence.   
“Anything else?” he asked softly. There was nothing else.   
“I’ll make this simple for you. I am you’re warden.” He stalked to another side of the stage, “I will be your keeper, your judge, your jury, your jailer, and if necessary;” he glanced over a couple of lines, “your executioner.”   
  
There was more hissing and a couple of unintelligible renunciations about that being unconstitutional. “I decide when you are innocent,” he said over the rising din, “and only I will release you. You have…” he looked at an imaginary watch on his wrist, “one year to prove to me you are not the one I’m looking for. If you haven’t done that by then…” he cocked his head and smiled widely. “Well. Let’s hope you won’t have to find out.”   
  
“This is illegal!” A voice finally called from the back of the room. “You can’t jus-mmph!” Again a line was jostled and someone was dragged out.   
He watched them go with a vague smile. “Madness,” he murmured, “will not be tolerated. But please,” he swept his gaze over the entire room like he was looking for someone. “Enjoy your stay,” He said softly, seemingly disappointed that whoever he was seeking was not about to wave their arms to grab his attention.  
  
~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~  
  
My idea to come up with a fool-proof escape plan before I had arrived had failed miserably. I did, however, have a vague glimmer of hope after we toured the facility when breakfast and Loki’s speech were through. It had to do with SHIELD’s security itself - not so much the guards as the thousands of cameras and other electronics they possessed. It blew my mind that SHIELD would use a computer system to lock up a computer manipulator; all these cameras and keycard and retina access doors had to lead back to a mainframe. Unless that mainframe wasn’t in the facility at all; but that would just making controlling it slower – not halt it all together. Or I could be a good prisoner and leave the stuff be and hope that Loki didn’t ID me as the hacker. _But one full year?_ I could easily accidentally let something slip in that time that might alert them.   
  
I just wanted a peek at what they were doing. They had to have all our files stashed away somewhere – it was just a matter of getting to them. I needed an unobtrusive glimpse into what they were thinking so that I could adjust my behavior accordingly. I wasn’t going to destroy their systems, just take quick-see. I needed a computer though. Or a laptop. Hell, even a smartphone if I was that desperate.  
I am that desperate.  
  
My idea had been a tiny epiphany when I saw Mr. Stark enter a code to get into some restricted area. We were broken up into groups and were busy touring the facility; we had just left the gym and climbed up to the second level to check out the laundry room when I saw him. He’d been fussing with his phone and punching in a continuous string of numbers before the door clicked open. The guy was known for his suits - but the stuff that they ran on (and I don’t mean that… circle energy thing in his chest) was easily the best AI ever made. His systems - Jarvis or something – if that was installed here it would make my life miserable. But this is a _SHIELD_ prison. It was pivotal to my plan that this facility and its technology was being run by SHIELDs systems and not Mr. Starks. I doubted that he’d let Fury touch his stuff what with his ego, but there was always that chance this was all his. I mean, why else would he be here?  
  
Let me explain a thing though; Fury’s antivirus and the systems had never done anything wrong. It’s an A+ program run by a great team and an equally clever server. My platform was on equal footing with their antivirus – maybe even subpar. My trump card was the way that it was installed, recognized, and deleted. See, that’s the thing with trojan type viruses – once you have just one on your computer, even if you delete it, your computer will be continuously attacked. It opens up vulnerabilities; it’ll pull one tiny string out from your sweater and no matter how many times you restitch it or knit it back together again there will always be at least one thread that can be pulled on to make a bigger hole.   
  
My program - I’d named it ServOS - its acronym was essentially a description of its entire existence; a super encrypted rootkit that verses the installed operating systems on the computer that it was sent to. Well, it wasn’t by definition a rootkit. ServOS was actually a dropper – a program that installs malware directly, and the rootkit was the malware that it installed. SedvOS sounded weird though.   
  
Here’s the kicker; ServOS was _meant_ to be deleted by their team. It wouldn’t run if it was clicked open manually because I didn’t _want_ it to. The antivirus needed to attack it so that my bug would collide with their boot and in a whirl of code and exception-making processes, shut itself down. Essentially, all computer programs run on a sort of “if-then” type process; and my “ifs” were supposed to confuse their “thens” and force them to shut down.   
  
Remember Mark and Amanda? That was a separate entity that they had. Those zombie computers and bots distracted the antivirus for a short time so that ServOS could install uninterrupted and steal SHIELDs stuff for a second. That was one of the main problems with ServOS though. It was a _really freaking huge file_. Even if the computers antivirus didn’t detect it installing, the users would most definitely notice the sudden decrease in computer function and investigate. Some of the employees had a vague notion of where to check when the performance decreased and looked at which programs were using the most CPU. Since ServOS installed over the internet, the CPU generally showed large usage by Chrome or whatever. Then they’d get nervous if they didn’t have Chrome open and they’d sometimes disconnect from the internet. Of course, by then I’d already created the trapdoor and it didn’t matter if I had wifi or not; but sometimes people would interfere _juuuuust_ right.   
  
After that if Servy used up too much CPU it’d just show up as a legit operating program like service host. Svchost.exe… you need that. I know it looks threatening but if you mess with that your computer will cease to exist. Unless it’s ServOS in disguise… but SHIELD didn’t know that. When ServOS was finally found because one of the bots got lost and accidentally uncovered its hiding place, the antivirus attacked it, got confused, and forced the entire operation to shut down. When the systems shut down for a few milliseconds, ServOS was deleted because the server reverted to a previous state when it was clean.   
  
That was the drop. Its backup was infected with ServOS’s rootkit, and the rootkit reinstalled ServOS as DontOpen.exe. The difference between the two programs was that ServOS was the trojan door, and DontOpen was helpful moving company that packaged all your stuff and took it out the door and into the moving van.  
Or my computer.  
Or… classified information.     
But, you’re wondering why I’m telling you this story again. It’s because you need to understand the nature of ServOS. Of trojans. Of DontOpen.exe.  
 _They never fully leave the system_.  
  
But I intended to.


	5. Chapter 5

The first week had been absolute hell. People were being dragged off left right and center for any sort of misdemeanor – from leaving wrappers behind after meals to talking too loudly to fist fighting. They always came back solemn-faced and refused to say exactly what had happened behind the closed doors. By the end of the third week it seemed nearly half the population had been pulled aside at one point or another – including Torres. I’d just about had a heart attack when the guard came up and purposefully knocked the basket of laundry out of her hands, and then took her away when she refused to pick it up.    
  
I thought she’d punch him; she seemed the “destroy everything when indignant” type but she just kind of went limp and let him lead her off. Granted I didn’t know her all that well – but at least two people had shouted during Loki’s speech, so it seemed strange that not a single person had raised hell when they were unjustly… rearrested. There were a few who complained about “not doing anything wrong” but… shit even _I_ would aim a kick at their shins before they pulled me off. My cellmate came back thirty minutes later, changed clothes, and went straight to the gym to hit some punching bags. _That_ was the Torres I… sorta knew.   
  
I was watching her throw herself around, dodging, and flailing like the punching bag had declared war upon her and her descendants. She had also refused to speak about what had happened after the guard dragged her off – which I was not happy about because how else was I supposed to prepare for the inevitable. I didn’t push it though; people were beginning to form groups of two or more and the last thing I needed was to be the friendless one out. There was one particular group of five people that was beginning to attract quite a bit of attention though. They had the most weight to throw around, and had first dibs on everything from the front of the line during meals to first to the showers. That part really sucked because the water was lukewarm at best, and by the time the general populace got to it it was ice cold. They weren’t the largest group – the biggest clique was fifteen members strong - but for some reason that group of five was the popular one.  
  
According to my limited knowledge on prison culture that I’d gleaned from scary Netflix documentaries; they would eventually become our overlords and rape the world, sell drugs, kill people, and bribe the guards. Well… if this was a normal prison anyways. Despite all the attention though, the five original members stuck together pretty fiercely – it was clear they weren’t looking for new members no matter how hard the rest of the world tried to weasel its way in. One of them I (and most others) knew by surname – Draper – he wasn’t very good at hiding his identity; even before the SHIELD incident. He had a bit of an ego and plastered his name all over his products – like, his _real_ name. He made hack tools and programs and sold them online for less experienced ‘hackers’ to buy and go around DDoS-ing and hacking every website or user they came across. He seemed like a good candidate to be the hacker – I don’t know why Fury didn’t sentence him and let the rest of us go.  
  
“Hey.” Torres suddenly dropped down beside me and took a swig of water from her bottle.  
“Better?” I asked nonchalantly.  
She shrugged and stretched her legs out in front of her. I took it as a, _yes but I’m not still not talking about it_. I wondered which one of us was the clinger and who was being clung on to. _Could go either way at this point._     
“Have you seen the five-group?” I asked randomly. It surprised me how terse our conversations always were; one word answers was the best she ever gave me, and I found myself doing the same in response.   
“Yeah.” I caught the scowl she gave at the end of it.  
“Know any of ‘em?”  
“Nope.”   
_Not even Draper?_ He was practically the Tony Stark in terms of ego in the hacking world. I vaguely considered jokingly telling her about the documentary I saw once, but she wasn’t exactly the conversationalist type. She probably wouldn’t think it was funny anyways. “I’m…” I looked up to the clock on the wall; we had a whole two hours left of free time. “Gonna go sleep.”  
“Mmm.” She threw her head back and sucked on the spout of her water bottle again.  
  
I got up and pushed down the urge to say ‘bye’ to her. Torres, honestly, was about as easy to read as a braille webpage - and it was a bit hard to be friends with someone like that. Besides, last night she stole my towel and I was still kinda pissed. Also, why the hell wouldn’t she tell her cellmate-circumstantial-friend what the hell happens when SHIELD calls you in? Did they make you pinky swear not to say? Did they erase your memories? Was that a thing? If it was a thing, was that more or less unethical than what they were doing to us now? Were there laptops back there to steal? _I need to know_.  
  
~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~  
  
Jennifer hadn’t expect to be called in so soon – she thought she was doing a decent job. After the guard had knocked the basket from her hands and dragged her off, her quarry had stood stock still in the middle of the hallway looking mutinous. She’d done _that_ part of her job correctly then, if the hacker was at least _considering_ rescuing her.  She passed through the door and after it clicked shut the guard had released her and nudged her with his elbow.  
  
“Think I pissed off your friend.” He cackled.   
Jennifer snorted. “I got an easy one.” She tugged at the uniform lapel around her neck, “Am I in trouble?” she asked as he led her down the hall.  
“Nah. The director’s been calling everyone inta’ talk’n update files’n stuff.” He glanced over at her with a concerned look etched across his face. “You ‘kay?” She was still tugging at the collar.   
“Yeah. Think I’m allergic to whatever soap they use to clean these things.”  
The guard unlocked a second door for her and ushered her in. “Tell the director.”  
“Mmm.” She wouldn’t.   
  
They climbed the stairwell up to the second floor in silence and stopped halfway down the hall to bang on a door.  
“It’s open!” a voice called from inside.   
Jennifer took a steadying breath and entered, greeted by the sight of Fury, Natasha, and Loki all seated around a long table.  
Fury looked up briefly from the file before him to look her over, and then went back to the file. “Agent Jennifer Malotte, right?” He asked, “Mal-ot… or.. Mal-o…” he clicked a pen and scribbled something across the top.  
“It’s pronounced Mal-o.” She answered and walked further in to stop at the end of the table.  
Fury waved her to sit and pulled a page out from the manila folder. “You’re going by… Juliana Torres and you’re in cell two oh eight correct?”  
“Yes.”  
“Assigned to inmate twelve.”  
“That’s right.” she confirmed again.  
“So…” he said, tossing the folder to the middle of the table apathetically. “Anything new?”  
Jennifer frowned and looked to her mentor for help. Natasha was too busy grabbing at the file that Fury had discarded to notice the silent plea.  
  
It was Loki who spoke up from his side of the table. Jennifer could hear the clink of the chains as he tucked his ankles more comfortably beneath his chair. “What we need to know is…” he said softly, “has anything changed? Do you remember your charges… _basic_ information?”  
“Of course.” she answered icily, rising to the bait he was obviously laying. She’d studied the hackers file backwards and forwards since she’d been assigned to the job. A little over a year now; she could say she knew the target more thoroughly than they did themselves.   
“ _And_?” he asked again, enjoying her poorly-hidden scowl.  
“They’re still going by their intake name, Cambell.” Jennifer could easily list all forty seven names that the target had taken, but was simply content to see that Loki wasn’t satisfied that she was completely incompetent.  
  
“And what’s the first name they’re using?” Natasha asked, still distracted by whatever was in the folder.  
“Not given; it’s just Cambell.” Jennifer answered sheepishly.  
“It’s been three weeks Miss Malotte,” Loki sighed, “Surely you’re on first-name basis by now.”  
“They’re guarded.” Jennifer shot back.  
“Or you just haven’t given them reason to trust you.” Loki answered just as quickly. “That’s your only job – to gain their trust; and if you can’t even perform the simplest task of your profession-”  
“Thank you, Jennifer.” Natasha snapped the file closed and gave a wry smile. “Try to work on getting their first name or any other information you can at this point.” She waved the folder until it made a ‘wobble’ type noise. “This one’s a bit thin.”  
Agent Malotte nodded jerkily and waited to be dismissed.   
  
“Jennifer…?” Loki asked pleasantly. She forced herself to look him in the eye.   
“Yes?” She glanced around nervously, unsure of his position within SHIELD. The ‘sir?’ part of her question came out gratingly.   
He smiled. “I know you’re… _terribly_ busy, but…” He motioned with his hand toward the one-way window that overlooked the cafeteria. “While you’re at it, there’s a group of five out there without an agent in it. Do try your hand at infiltration – I can’t be _everywhere_.”  
She nodded again and was saved from saying, ‘yes sir’ when Fury dismissed her.  
“Don’t make anything up if they ask.” Romanoff called a second later, “Just don’t answer – and keep ‘em out of trouble! A couple of agents let theirs get out of control and into fistfights earlier.” Jennifer waved an affirmation and stalked all the way down the hall, muttering a quick ‘thanks’ to the guard that held open the door. _I need to punch something,_ she fumed.   
  
~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~  
  
Torres entered in a huff and threw herself face-down onto her mattress.   
“Shh.” I growled angrily. She’d woken me from my half-dream state... _wow_ s _he stinks_. She’d really put her heart into beating that bag.   
She kept her face in the blankets. “It’s almost dinner,” she said, muffled.  
“Thanks.”  
She looked up and frowned, clearly annoyed. “We should go.”  
“It’s too early man!” I snapped and rolled over to face the wall.  
“Fine.” She got up again. “Don’t come crying to me when they haul you off and beat your ass ‘cause you didn’t listen.”  
I turned over to look her up and down. She didn’t have any bruises, or… visible ones. “That what they did to you?” I asked as casually as possible.    
She didn’t answer and left our cell. The doors weren’t locked during free time – it was a pretty relaxed prison in that sense. The people who had gotten into a fist fight earlier were locked up though. We were given quite a bit of freedom if we were well behaved; I’d hate to have my ability to wander around aimlessly impeded because I’d slept through dinner.   
  
I stumbled up sleepily and half-trotted down to the cafeteria, just in time to hear the gates click locked behind me. _Fuck me that was close... stupid clocks’ probably five minutes slow_. The food line was short because of my lateness, so I lined up and grabbed a tray; then waved my barcoded wrist-bangle under the scanner. I used the time that it took to log me in to figure out where Torres was – she wasn’t in our usual spot by the third pillar. _I should have just left with her,_ I griped, _now I’m gonna have to sit somewhere else_. It was like high school all over again. The little machine greeted me by the fake name that I’d asked the intake agent to call me by, and sent my information back to the lunch ladies. I wasn’t allergic to anything.   
  
“Hey, move!”   
I jerked out of my reverie and realized that I was holding up the line. “Sorry.” I muttered. I placed the tray up on the ledge and watched the lunch lady fill the compartments with various food stuffs. _At least the foods better than it was in high school_. Just as I left the line to find a place to sit down, I saw her.   
Torres was sitting at the five’s table.   
Though… not quite; she was clearly unwelcomed at their end. She had saved face by talking with another person to her right though. _That asshole_. The bench across from her was empty, but it was right next to a slightly-psychotic looking girl from their group. _She could be… okay_. Kitty-corner from her, though, was a guy who looked both willing and capable of crushing every skull within a three mile radius with his bare hands. I’d just have to sit somewhere else.   
  
_Fuck this_. I dropped down at the nearest table and mentally dared the two people to say something about it.   
One of them looked up and waved his spork at me cheerfully. “Hi, I’m Mark Zuckerberg.”   
_Great, a fucking comedian_. _No wonder no one sits here_.   
His friend sighed, clearly pained, and squished his pear cubes more forcefully. “I’ve seen you before…” he squinted out the corner of his eye, “Don’t you usually sit with that blonde chick?” he asked ruefully.   
_Did Torres really stand out that much?_ “Yeah, she’s over there.” I motioned with my plastic knife towards where she sat.  
“What?” he jerked upright and zoned in on her table. “…Huh.” He watched her for a beat longer and then slumped over again to idly flick the fruit around the tray - he seemed more awake now though. After a full minute of the fruit flicking he quickly got up and picked up his plate. “James,” he said, “you’re on your own.” He waved goodbye and walked over to the trash.   
“Wha-?” ‘James’ glanced up and watched his friend leave with a startled look across his face.  
  
The friend dumped his stuff out and casually made his way over to plop himself down across from Torres.   
_Is he seriously hitting on her?!_ I fumed, _is this what happens when I leave for thirty seconds?!_  
The group eyed the newcomer distrustfully, and then went back to laughing at whatever hilarious story the old man was telling them.   
“What just happened?” James asked, pushing his glasses further up his nose.   
I glared at the back of his friends head; he and Torres were hitting it off like old friends. The person that she’d been talking to originally was also leaning over to them too.  
 _I cannot believe this bullshit_. I felt completely left out –not to mention that if they got two more members they’d be a rival force to the group next to them.   
“Hey…” James fiddled with his napkin nervously and smiled at me sweetly. “You wanna-”  
“Nope.” I got up and left as well.     
  
~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~  
  
“Have fun at dinner?” I had rehearsed what I was going to say beforehand, but the pout still sounded clear in my voice.   
Torres snorted and slipped out of her day uniform without either of us turning. We’d long since given up on that civility. “I’m just surprised you even made it down in time.” She answered.  
I frowned and waited for her to finish with the buttons. “You still haven’t told me what they do when they pull you back.”   
“Just…” a pained look came over her, “just don’t do anything and they won’t-”  
“ _You_ didn’t do anything!” I cried out.   
“I didn’t pick up the laundry.” She muttered sullenly.  
“That’s bullshit man!”  
“I didn’t say it wasn’t.” she murmured. “Just do as they say. It’s not all that bad they just-” She caught herself and edged further onto her bed. “Just keep your head down and we’ll get out soon enough.”  
 _Is it seriously_ that _bad?_ “Well…” I bit my lip and tried to formulate my next sentence as gently as possible. “Did you… see the layout of this place at all? Ordidyoujuststayinonearea?”  
“Wha… what?” She asked.  
“I mean, like,” I picked at a blanket fuzzy, “The… guards…? Oh for fucks sakes, _did you pass a security room?_ ”  
Her gaze narrowed and she leisurely pushed her back up against the wall. “Security room?” she repeated slowly.  
“Uh…” I prayed silently that Torres wasn’t a whistleblower, “Yeah you know. Like, ha… the… uh… old fashioned looking rooms with fifty TVs stuck into the wall? They… show… all the camera feeds… ahem.” My fuzz picking intensified. At this rate the blanket wouldn’t keep me warm anymore.   
  
“No…” she murmured, still scrutinizing my fuzz harvest.  
“I mean, I just…” _This isn’t working_. “…what… if… THERE ARE CAMERAS IN THE SHOWERS?!” I cried.   
She was silent, then “Cambell, if you’re thinking-”  
“Fuck no, I just-” I sighed. “Sorry. I wouldn’t... it’s just weird not knowing what the hell is going on.”  
“Mmmm.” She agreed.   
_Should’ve kept my mouth shut_. I pulled at a loose string and watched the corner of my blanket unravel. _But she’s a hacker too, and if we’re gonna leave we have to work together_. “Well night.” I said suddenly, and rolled over to face the wall.  
“…Night.” She repeated a moment later.  
  
Torres watched the faked slow rise and fall of her targets chest… they were terrible at mimicking sleep. _This is definitely worth a file update_. It was just in time too; the first round of elimination processes would begin next week - and unfortunately for her target their outburst had just knocked them off the ‘definitely not the hacker’ list.   
She couldn’t wait to see that smug look on Loki’s face wiped off.   
  



	6. Chapter 6

“Loki.”  
The god of mischief continued gazing listlessly out the second story window and into the cafeteria.   
“ _Loki_.”  
He’d thought this job Fury needed help with would be relatively simple to complete; it would be a quick way to get Odin off his back for a while and Frigga to stop with her unintentional guilt-tripping smiles. He had not expected to be so thoroughly basted in SHIELDs filth and teething troubles – or that they would persist for so long.  
“Loki!”  
And to make matters worse, he was only halfway through his contracted time; he was still obligated to stay on Midgard for another year.   
“ _Hey_!”  
Surely there was some sort of loop-hole within the director’s contract that he could exploit.   
Fury banged loudly on the table with the flat of his hand.  
That contract had not been created by a wordsmith – of course there would been unforeseen holes.   
“LOKI!”  
Now if Loki had made the contract, all of those holes would have been planned for instead of incidental.  
“For fuck’s sake!”  
And they would all be to his benefit.  
“I swear to-”  
  
Loki twisted in his seat to stare back uninterestedly at Fury.   
“We’ve. Got. _Nothing_!”  
He turned back around to look over the auditorium below him. It was free time, and the inmates were conversing and playing card games. If it weren’t for the grey walls and uniforms and guns and guards, it seemed almost fun.  
“We made a _deal_.”  
The slight clench of his jaw was barely visible.   
“You’d better come up with something brilliant.” Fury got up from the table, ending their hour long one-sided discussion, and stomped over to the door. “Figure something out! Elimination starts tomorrow and we’ve got _fuck-all_ to show for it.”  
  
Loki tightened his grip on the armrests to keep himself from jumping up and slamming Fury into a wall. Not that he could reach. The best he could do with the chains on him now – if he strained hard enough - was a sort of awkward bow. He continued to glare silently out the window, and watched as they rattled slightly in Fury’s door-slamming wake. Finally, he was left alone to his loft and his thoughts. There was a soft click as the locks slid into place on the door, and once Fury was done doing whatever it was he did on the screen outside, the restraints on his wrists were loosened and Loki was free to wander around the room. No matter where he wandered though, the long chain trailed behind him and led back to a small hole in the floor near the window. It was only when he had company that the chain shortened and he was confined to that particular spot, but he’d gotten into the habit of staying in that area for all hours of the day. The Avengers seemed to enjoy entering unannounced and watching the cable snap him back to the other side of the room when they entered. It made him pine for his first cell; at least on Asgard he wasn’t subjected to this outrage.    
  
The links always pinched and dug into his skin when they were tightened, Loki idly rubbed the red marks on his wrists as he stretched his legs and leaned into the cool glass that separated him from his hidden target. Honestly, he had given the whole thing a fair amount of thought. The problem was that the restrictions that Fury’d placed on him barred him from doing anything truly useful most of the time. Typically he was confined to his loft and forced to watch the inmate’s patterns from the window or review the security footage – at least until elimination week. Then he’d finally be released from his prison for a few hours to mill about disguised as a guard. He wasn’t entirely looking forward to that part; Tony had made him a ‘shock collar’ to make sure he’d stay in line, and there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that the Avengers would abuse it.  
It’s what he would’ve done.  
  
Even more infuriating, the director’s idea of an ‘elimination’ round consisted of scooping up everyone at once and terrifying the daylights out of them with a series of tests and interviews. Fury had explained that the only reason that he didn’t just call people in pell-mell was because the whole group might start rioting and working together (or as much as they could with undercover agents thrown in the mix). He figured that the elimination round would be a good time to shake things up because he could terrify them all equally and without causing a scene. It was reminiscent of when he moved in and arrested all of the potentials at once.    
Loki thought it was tedious; he’d much rather do it his way.  
  
~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~  
  
I was ninety nine point nine-nine percent sure that I’d just scared away my only prison friend. Torres had never been a particularly genial person to begin with; but ever since I’d mentioned the security room she seemed to spend more time casting me wary sideways glances than anything else. To be fair, she was apparently under the impression that being well behaved would set us free; so I guess it made sense from her standpoint not to want to be friends with someone who was even _considering_ breaking the rules. I wanted to kick myself; in just under a minute I’d managed to alienate my cellmate – not a clever thing to do in places like these.  
  
She didn’t leave though - Torres still dragged me with her to the gym or the laundry room or whatever part of the penitentiary she wanted to visit that day. I was okay with it; it was either this or moping around in the cell. Honestly, I think she’d of left me by now if she had other friends –people less likely to get into trouble or… think of it. The only reason _I_ didn’t have any other friends was because everyone else seemed kinda sketchy – which is absurd, seeing as I’m the real criminal here.   
  
“Get up!”  
I jerked out of my stupor and looked over to where she was hug-hanging onto a punching bag.  
“I’m up.” The yoga mats along the edge of the room have an odd way of getting comfortable if you lie on them long enough.   
“I mean _up_ up.” She said. “All you ever do is sleep.”  
I scoffed at her blatant disregard for facts and snuggled deeper into the foam-bed.  
“Come on,” she waved me over and made her way to the treadmills. “I’ll race you.”  
“That’s not a fair race.” I called from my spot. “You look like a human greyhound-crossed-horse.”  
“And you look like you haven’t run in ages.” She muttered.  
I turned a slight shade of red and sat up. “I run plenty!” I shouted defensively and glared at her. Torres gave me a skeptical look-over.  
“I run scripts.”   
She scowled from a distance and clipped the safety cord to her chest. “Whatever, your jokes suck.”  
I shrugged indifferently and eased back down. “Well I’m not exactly in here for making killer puns.”  
“So what did you make, then?” she asked coyly.  
“Nothing.”   
  
My half-sleep was interrupted by the gym door clanging shut, and I raised my head to find Five-Group’s most gigantic member trudge in and begin leisurely perusing the dumbbell rack. He stopped at the end of the stand and gave a particularly nasty looking weight an experimental curl before walking over and settling himself on a bench near the exit. _He can probably lift the whole rack – what’s he need just one for?_ Torres saw him too, and lost some of the speed she’d just gained on the treadmill. It was odd to see him all alone though; that group usually stuck together all hours of the day. I think they spent most of their time either in the cafeteria or each other’s cells. _The rest are probably just lagging behind – I bet he begged them to come down here_. He didn’t acknowledge us or anyone else in the room – he just stuck to his dumbbell and never took his eyes off the floor.   
  
“Tor, what’s the time?” I called out to her.  
“Twenty to six”  
I heaved myself up and dusted the dirt off my back. “I’m gonna go shower.” If I rushed I could make it - at least the water would be warm; most people showered _after_ dinner. “Are you going to the cell?”  
“Nah…” she looked up from her unhurried pace and I caught her gaze linger slightly over the newcomer. “I still want to try that stair-step machine.”   
_Oh, so THAT’S it - she wants to stay here and hit on him. Typical Torres._ “I’m going.”  
“Be down before the gates lock!” She called.  
 _Stop mother-henning me_. “Sure.”  
I passed Big Guy sitting by the door and threw Torres a quick grin over my shoulder. _I know what you’re doing!_ I shouted at her internally.   
  
~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~  
  
Malotte watched her charge trot out the room. Sometimes she wished she had telepathic powers - because the grin Campbell threw her was absolutely malevolent. She glanced over uneasily to where Pierce was still working his dumbbell. Her cellmate didn’t have much communication with anyone else – she doubted very much they’d be in cahoots with the group of five. Still... the sudden appearance of a single member of the group of five – the biggest one to boot – coupled with her targets recent bad behavior…  
She just noticed it now, but she was currently the only agent in a gym holding fifteen potentials. _That_ was unsafe. Besides, there was supposed to be about one agent to one criminal; where were these potential’s agents? She jumped down from the treadmill and jogged after her target. Cambell was definitely up to something.   
  
~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~  
  
“Hey.”  
I jerked out of my ‘I-just-escaped-SHIELD’ daydream and looked up to find Torres looming over me.  
“Yes boss?”  
“Where were you?” She asked suspiciously, setting her plastic tray down across from me.  
I raised a brow. “ _Showering_.”  
She frowned at my wet hair and harrumphed.  
 _She’s so clingy sometimes_.  
  
Malotte picked up a ketchup packet and tore it open. Tomorrow marked the start of the first elimination round, and she had yet to tell Fury about Cambell’s outburst from last week. Not only that, but she still hadn’t been informed of Loki’s route as a guard; and she wasn’t entirely sure what to do with her target should they run into him. Cambell wasn’t even technically listed as a high threat because their file hadn’t been updated, so how would Loki know to pay attention to her cellmate? _Agh, all this last minute stuff is stressing me out_.  
  
Torres suddenly tossed a ketchup packet at me, and finished squeezing her second one’s contents over her bun.   
“Thanks.”    
“That was yours.” She deadpanned.   
“Huh?” I bent down and lifted the edge of the plate - and found the three packets that I’d brought were missing. “You _didn’t_.”  
“I left you one.” She grinned impishly.  
“You can’t give me what’s already mine!”  
“It’s not yours.” She said sweetly. “That was paid for with American tax dollars.”  
“I’m borrowing it.” I reached out quickly and switched our plates before she could register what was going on - and bit into her burger before she could stop me.   
“Oh you shit – you’re going to regret that.”  
I chewed happily. “S’not your burger.”   
  
~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~  
  
The room was incredibly dark, save for the soft green light filtering in through the window from the exit sign outside our door. It was deathly quiet too – probably around one or two. _The hell woke me up_? I wondered blearily. I lay there in the silence for a moment, and was nodding off again when I heard it. Torres shifted in her bed and whimpered quietly.   
“Tor?”  
She huffed and buried her face into the pillow.  
“Torres?”  
Nothing.   
I got up and padded over to her bed. She was in a kind of kneeling-fetal position clutching her stomach. I reached over and shook her blanketed shoulder gently – she was still whimpering.  
“Torres stop it.” I said a bit noisily given the quiet atmosphere.  
“Nngh.” She rolled away from me to face the wall. She looked absolutely pathetic - all pale and sickly and clammy like; or maybe it was just the green light that made her look so bad. I didn’t touch her forehead – seemed a bit invasive – but she was probably running a fever too.  
“Can you get up?”  
  
I glanced out the small window in our door and wondered where all the guards had run off to; no one had told us what to do if we got sick. I was fairly certain that there was always at least one posted at the end of the hall; but the problem with the wall guards was that they never moved from their spots - I wasn’t so certain he’d come with me.   
“M’ fine,” she replied woozily to my unasked question.   
I shook her again to make sure she didn’t pass out or something. “Listen, I’m gonna call the guards and have them-”  
“Naaaa-”   
“You’re pathetic!” I hissed angrily. “You can’t even lift your head!”   
“M’fine .” She repeated, feebly batting my hands off her shoulder. “S’important today.”  
“What?”   
  
Torres just moaned and curled into a tighter ball and rocked herself.   
_She needs help_.   
I walked up to the door and peered out the poor excuse of a window; it was about the width of my palm and the length of my forearm. _Do I just…_? The door was obviously locked, so knocking on the window was the best plan.   
I knocked on it twice and waited, but nothing happened. The third time I pounded harder, and a guard suddenly appeared on the other side. _It’s like Bloody Mary, except SHIELD.  
_ He motioned for me to move out the way, and unlocked the door. It swung open and revealed a second guard behind him brandishing a very nasty looking gun.  
  
“What are you doing out of bed?” the one in front asked gruffly.   
“Uh, Torres is really sick.” I moved back further into the cell to let them in. The first guard approached her without any of the hesitation he showed me, and turned Torres over onto her back.  
“M’ _fine_.” she insisted pitifully for the third time.  
“Sure you are,” he agreed.  The second one with the gun nuzzled his chin into his collar. “We’re going to need a gurney down in two oh eight.” He murmured quietly.   
_Oh hell no_.  
“You.” He pointed with the butt of his rifle at me, “back to bed.”  
 _  
_I scrambled back to my side of the room and watched as a nurse and a couple agents came to escort Torres away. She had insisted on walking, and after a full minute of both sides arguing the agents agreed to follow behind her with the gurney instead. One of them bagged up her belongings while Torres shuffled out, and asked me if she had been sick for very long. She’d been fine when the lights went out. He thanked me and told me I’d be contacted again if they had more questions. After all that was said and done, one of the guards threw me a pointed glare and bolted the door. It’s one of those things you can only truly appreciate when they occur; but heavy doors locking sound a thousand times more ominous when it’s too dark to see.  
  
~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~  
  
Monday morning came far too quickly. Not that he got much sleep anyways; Loki spent most of it sitting in his chair and staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out who he wanted to harass first as a guard. He’d probably go for someone from the group of five; most likely the smallish boy - he seemed nervous. Loki stood up and leaned into the glass to watch the group eat. He could go for the girl too, or the big looking one. The old man seemed to be the ringleader of the group; perhaps it would be best if-  
His thoughts were interrupted by a single rap on the door, before it quickly swung open.   
  
Loki was thankful he’d been by the window this time – though standing up. His arms were jerked down and the rest of him followed suit into a hunched over stance.  
“There’s no need to bow.” Natasha said sweetly. Tony followed in behind her, grinning.  
Loki sank into the seat behind him and returned the smile, “Its common courtesy to do so when multiple women enter a room.”  
   
“There’s been a development.” Natasha muttered quickly, before the arguments could start.  
Loki leaned back and clasped his hands before him. “Do tell.”  
“You have options now,” she continued, taking one of the seats at the table in the middle of the room. “One of our agents was just taken to the infirmary for food poisoning; Fury wants to know if it’d be easier for you to go as an agent instead of a guard.”  
“For the whole week?” Loki asked, surprised.  
“Yes.”  
He looked down to his cuffs and gave them an experimental tug. “Who is it?” he asked.  
“Agent Malotte.”  
Loki scoffed, “The one who can’t do her job?” he frowned at his uninvited guests. “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea; it’d be out of character if she did something right for once.”  
  
“You’d be in among the potentials instead of just posted along the wall.” Natasha explained.   
Loki weighed the two. The elimination rounds gave him a chance to move amongst the population unnoticed; the second option made more sense in that respect. But if he went as a guard he’d be able to have more direct control over the prisoners instead of just posing as another one of them. Obviously there’d be unhappy consequences for him if he chose the greater freedom of the agent.  
“I’d rather do both.”  
“Malotte’s already been targeted before; the prisoners might get suspicious if she intermittently goes missing throughout the week.”  
“Pity.” Loki murmured. “Have you considered getting rid of her permanently?”  
“No.” Natasha deadpanned.  
“Did you not just say that she is a liability to the integrity of your scam?”  
“This isn’t a scam,” Natasha huffed. “And unless you want to stay up here forever…”  
“I’d rather not.”   
“Then pick.” She folded her arms. “Guard or prisoner?”  
Loki smiled. “Well when you put it like _that_ …”  
  
Natasha kept her face carefully blank as Loki reclined further into his seat.   
“And what of these?” he brought his hands up and wiggled the cuffs. “They’re _horribly_ conspicuous.”  
“That’s my job.” Tony waved the box he’d just pulled from his pocket. “We tweaked your guard shock collar a little and turned it into a... Well. Shock bracelet – it looks like the inmates barcodes.” He held it up to the light and inspected it. “It’s juiced up, of course. Took me like, five seconds to make.  
“Wonderful.” Loki murmured.   
“It’s really powerful.” Tony whirled it around on his index finger, “It would probably turn you into a sniveling pile of goo if it went off.”  
“Mm.”  
“I’d like to test i-”  
“So which is it?” Natasha interrupted again.  
  
Loki looked back out to the slowly increasing number inmates stuffing their faces with breakfast. He’d have a greater chance of weaseling into the group of five if he went as Malotte. Maybe he’d even manage to get them to admit to their crimes on the first day.  
Loki held out his wrists, “Make that ‘bracelet’ loose enough for me to slip it off.”


	7. Chapter 7

Twelve hours of free time can take a serious toll on your mental health if you don’t have anything to do, or anyone to talk to. I’ve been friendless for only half a day and I’m already having an existential crisis. I didn’t want to go to the gym, the cafeteria was mostly taken up by the larger cliques, and I’d already gone to the laundry room twice. The four grey walls of my cell were slowly suffocating me, so pointless wandering was the only option. There were still four grey walls – but at least they were spaced further apart.   
  
The whole penitentiary is in the shape of a sort of misshapen pentagon. The three wings of cells are all about the same length; but the auditorium slash cafeteria and kitchen wing is twice the length of a cell wing, and the gym with laundry wing is the shortest. I haven’t seen the thing from up above, but the building was at least two stories tall, and there was definitely an unreachable third story over the gym wing. The second floors were all reachable, except for the blacked-out windowed one in the cafeteria. The shortest wing contained the gym on the lower floor and the laundry room on the second; and both floors in the cell wings contained our negative five star sleeping accommodations. In the middle of it all lay the courtyard – which was closed off because of the snow. I was looking forward to spring; both the penitentiary and my previous job as night manager limited my view of that wonderful yellow orb in the sky. I was gonna look _right at it._   
  
This place was a technophobes worst nightmare though; literally every few feet there was a keypad or scanner, camera, monitor, or a tricked out guard with cool goggles that did lord-knows-what. I had an insatiable itch to fiddle with them all. It took some serious self-control to squish that impulse; I had to settle with staring at them longingly while plodding down the hall. Torres never liked doing this with me – she hated pointless wandering. It was sort of relaxing though, and a hell of a lot less inane than running in place on a treadmill. That’s what I told myself, anyways.    
  
I’d passed the same guard three times now already; this time his head followed me until I turned a corner, instead of the usual blank stare off into space. It was a really weird day today. Maybe it was because I was so used to hanging around Torres that being without her was throwing everything off. It was more of the atmosphere though – everyone just seemed a bit… quieter. The guards all looked lethargic (or as much as you could behind goggles). You’d think he’d of asked me what I was doing, and if I was up to something. I was only partially up to something – but it was getting me nowhere.   
  
Several turns and a trip up a stairwell later brought me back to the laundry level again. There wasn’t much to do except pretend to check if my uniform was dry and reset the timer. SHEILD didn’t mess with our dirty laundry; we had to do it ourselves. Of course, there were those who were either too lazy or thought themselves above doing the laundry. These guys were the leaders of the bigger cliques; they just had some lowly member-peasant do it for them - sort of like an admittance fee. I was glad I wasn’t in a group for that reason alone, because there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that I would be anything other than a lowly member-peasant. The last thing I needed in this place was to draw attention to myself by being some super-popular gang leader overlord… _thing_. Also I’d probably just butt heads with everyone; I have a bit of an ego – it’s the reason why I felt flattered for seven years while SHIELD vainly searched for me.  
Well. Not vainly. I am, unfortunately, still here.  
  
“Hey!”  
I jerked up from watching my clothes tumble to see a guard advancing on another inmate across the room. _Well, I guess not all the guards are half-asleep_.  
“Wha-what?” The inmate stammered and spun around, raising his hands meekly.   
“Turn, hands behind your head.” The guard growled and roughly cuffed the poor guy before jerking him in the direction of one of the locked doors.   
_That kid wasn’t doing shit!_ I had the urge to run up and knock the guard over, or scream and shout or _something_. Despite my brave internalizations though; I found myself backing quietly out of the laundry room and tearing down the hall.   
  
~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~  
  
It wasn’t just the laundry room kid; it was like somebody flipped a switch and turned all the guards rabid in a span of just fifteen seconds. From the quick trip from the laundry room and down the stairs, I saw five other inmates get cuffed and dragged off – all of them kicking and screaming. I’d kept my head down and trotted along faster, hoping that they didn’t see me. _What the hell is going on?  
_  
I came up to one of the cafeteria entrances – hoping to take the scaffolding shortcut to the second floor cells – and stopped dead. It was pandemonium. There were so many moving bodies thrashing around it was hard to tell who was a guard and who was an inmate. It looked like one of those nature documentaries where a fox or something tries to jump a single goose, but ends up terrifying the whole flock into flight. Except they were inmates... and guards. And no one was flying they were just flailing and falling. Above the din it was possible to make out snippets of what was being bellowed – ‘on your knees’, ‘above your head’, ‘move’. I found myself backing away from yet another arrest scene and running away.   
  
_Holy shit holy shit holy shi-_ My cell wing was opposite the cafeteria. There were three metal catwalks that each led from the cafeteria, over the courtyard, and into one of the wings; and they were only supposed to be used by the guards. It was around the second week when SHIELD started letting us use them because they realized that the after-dinner traffic was a safety concern. Three hundred people walking down two halls was apparently too much for the wall guards to handle, so they opened the catwalks to help ease the load.  I was now forced to go the long way around – past the wall guards and down three more halls.    
  
I wasn’t entirely sure what good all this sneaking around of mine would do – it looked like they were going for everyone. Maybe I could… slip through. Like last time, just… goose chases. There wasn’t anywhere to hide though. _The bathroom?_ No that was way too obvious. I peeked around the corner to check for guards – there were none. _Makes sense_ , I though as I looked down to check if my laces were still tied, _they’ve probably moved in on the cafeteria groups_. I was just about to turn the corner and run down the corridor, but ducked back as a guard suddenly appeared and attempted to drag someone with him through a door further down the hall. I watched them struggle for a moment before he took off a glove and punched in the code. _Well shit_. That thing probably checked the fingerprints as well as the code – not that I saw the numbers from my hiding spot around the corner. But mama _had_ always said that the best place to hide was under people’s noses.   
  
Mama never said that. She’s a wonderful law abiding lady. _Torres is so fucking lucky she’s sick_. I watched the agent suddenly let go of the inmate, and then used their falling momentum to shoulder them through the door. The latch clicked back into place, and I quickly darted down the hall. _Cell, cell, cell, just get to the cell._ I had no idea what I was going to do when I got there, but the majority of all my escape plans had been created while on the lam - and they’ve all worked out well so far. I’d say I work well under pressure; but one of these days I’m going to die of a heart attack.   
  
The next hall was also blissfully guard free, but as I reached the end where it met the beginning of the cell wings, I could hear voices. Guard voices. I pressed myself close to the wall and strained to hear what they were saying – they were close but not enough for me to make out any syllables. A quick glance back in the direction that I’d come confirmed that I was still alone – but when I turned back to the guards, they had stopped talking.  
  
My heart slammed against my chest, and for a brief moment I feared I wouldn’t hear them sneak up on me because my heart was so damn loud. I risked a peek around the corner.  
There was only one guard with his back turned to me – the one he had been talking to was walking away. The guard shifted his gun, and twisted as though about to resume walking. I ducked back and panicked again from my spot. I wouldn’t make it down the hall to round the corner in time – he’d see me. Staying here wasn’t much use; he was definitely coming this way. His footfalls were hard and heavy – like he had steel toed boots on. He probably did; but Mama always said to go down swinging when you can’t win.  
  
Mama never said that either. She was a wonderfully mild-mannered woman. But this guard had something that might come in handy if I ever made an escape attempt; I might as well make the best of the situation.    
  
 ~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~  
  
“I’m doing a clean swe- ergh!” The agent jerked back at the sight of me pressed up against the wall. I probably should have rethought my positioning – I looked like I was planning on jumping out at him. Still, all I needed was for him to give chase. I made it halfway down the hall before I felt his weight collide with my back, and we fell to the floor.   
  
To give him credit, he was kind enough to roll as we tumbled so that he didn’t fall with his full weight upon me. With all his gear, he easily weighed more than two hundred pounds. I had nothing on that. Still – he landed in a great position with his chest just above my hand. I pretended that my groping his torso had to do with me trying to push off his weight in an attempt at scrabbling to get up. Instead I came away with the prize I’d been searching for – his tiny concealed radio. SHIELD had developed them years prior and disguised them as shirt pocket buttons.  
Ask me how I know.   
_Ask me_.   
  
I’ll tell you; it’s because I stole their files once. At that point in time it’d been a huge development, so that file had been considered ‘top secret’ and was one of the few that I skimmed over. Tell me I’m clever. Please? _Please?_  
  
I let it slip into my shirt cuff, and was a good little inmate as he rolled me over onto my stomach to tug my arms behind my back and handcuff me.   
“That _hurts_!” I snarled as he jerked a bit too forcefully.  
I got another tug in response, and I took back the credit I gave him earlier for not smushing me. _No kudos for you, asswipe._  
He remained unchivalrous, and hefted me upright. It was embarrassing how my feet left the ground for a moment, but a second later they were on the floor again and being shepherded to the nearest door.   
  
I had to find a new place to hide the radio though – if someone tried to call him now it’d make a sound in my sleeve. On top of that, it was only a matter of a few minutes before he realized it was gone. There had to be an off button on it or something… that only fixed the first problem though. He jerked me to a standstill and punched in the code to the door. It was a relatively simple thing, t _hey probably change it daily_. Still, I memorized it. _One seven seven three, one seven seven three, one-_ we were in another hallway. This one ran parallel to the other we’d just come from. He led me over to an elevator and called for it using another keypad.   
  
_This isn’t good_. The bottom of my stomach made a flip flop sensation as the door silently slid open and we stepped inside. _This isn’t good_. His grip stayed tight upon my arm as he leaned over to once again punch in his code and pick a floor.   
_LL_. _There’s a basement..._ _this_ really _isn’t good._  
  
The ride lasted a year. Literally a year. Ten years. _How deep is this shaft?_ Thirty years. Forty years and a bajillion miles. The elevator shuddered slightly, and then continued on at a slightly slower pace. _If we go down any further, we’ll end up in hell._   
Finally it decelerated and stopped. We waited, staring at the doors. My guard seemed unaffected by it, but I wasn’t entirely used to my elevators stalling. I was seriously considering hyperventilating when they hissed open and I was greeted with the sight of the whitest looking waiting room ever. It actually hurt to look at it.  
  
“Move.” He bumped me forward.  
I walked forward tentatively, and actually jumped at the sound of the elevator doors sliding closed. The guard disappeared from sight – gone on to some other floor.   
_Is this a… cell?_  
Everything was painfully white – the walls, the floors, the ceiling, and the lightbulbs that were a thousand times too bright for the room. The only break of color in the monochrome chamber was the silver of the elevator behind me, the silver of the door-handle across the room, and the black of the round plastic clock on the wall on the left. _Well shit_. There wasn’t anywhere to sit either… besides the floor. I hoped I wouldn’t be here long; of all the times in the world, _this_ was the one where I really needed the bathroom.  
  
 _‘They’re all in…’_  
Huh?  
The sound was coming from my sleeve. Apparently the switch I pushed wasn’t the on/off button – it was the volume. _Shhh, shh!_ I panicked again and twisted my cuffs, trying to find the stupid button in my sleeve.   
‘Standby.’  
 _No, no, no, don’t standby – just shut up!  
_ ‘…Start… three…’  
I froze and waited a few seconds. _Okay, okay_ , *phew*, _they aren’t counting down_. I glanced up to the clock on the wall; it was two ten. Maybe they said start at three? Now I’d pushed the volume all the way down by accident – that wasn’t helpful. Still, I wasn’t about to twist my wrists off trying to get to it again.  
  
I glanced back to the elevator. _Just what the fuck is going on?_ There wasn’t much to do except wait until three though. I walked over to the one unblemished wgite wall and settled with my back to it, intent on waiting this whole thing out. Glaring at the clock did not make it go faster though. I shifted my arms to a more comfortable position and leaned my head back. _This is fine. It’s cool. I got a little radio… that’s a plus. And… no injuries. That’s good too.  
I need the bathroom. _  
  
~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~  
  
Three o’clock came and went – I only realized it when I woke up at eight. Seven year habits die hard I guess – but my bladder was killing me.  
“Holy fucking shit!” I shouted at the ceiling, and rolled over onto my back. The cuffs dug into my skin, but at least the pressure was off my stomach. _I’m going to die here. Holy shit my parents are gonna be so mad. Funerals are so expensive. I’m so fucked man. I’m doomed. DOOMED.  
  
_ I growled and ground my spine into the cuffs to distract me from my gut. _This is the worst_. The pain was helping marginally, but I needed to get up. Again I rolled over, this time into a hunched bow to push myself upright. I couldn’t help the whimper-groan that I made; but I was too furious to even care at this point. _Three, huh?_ I snorted and shuffled over to the elevator.   
“Let me out you shits!” I shouted at it. It remained fantastically impassive.   
I walked across the room to the other door and kicked at it. _This is bullshit_. I turned around and grabbed the handle with my cuffed hands, but the knob wouldn’t twist. I wasn’t sure if it wouldn’t turn because I didn’t have a good grip or because it was locked. Most likely it was the latter.   
  
“Fucking…” I hissed, “…open.” with a particularly well placed torque, the thing clicked and slowly swung inwards into another bright white room. I stood stock still on the threshold and took in the only two pieces of furniture – a large silver table and an intercom on the far wall.   
“Congratulations and welcome, inmate twelve…” The automated voice greeted, “to the first elimination round.”


	8. Chapter 8

One of the last things that you'd want to hear in a private prison owned by a fanatical group that disregards your most basic constitutional rights are either the words 'elimination' or 'welcome'. It's not a good sign when you happen to hear both in the same sentence; especially when the room you're confined to looks like it could double up as a gas chamber. I should've been terrified. I should've been concerned for my future mental and physical health; but all I could manage with what felt like the seven seas sloshing around my gut was intense irritation.

Still, there was no way out the two rooms other than up the elevator again. I wouldn't get to leave until SHIELD decided it was good and ready to let me out; which was never at this rate because after greeting me the intercom had said nothing at all. I felt a bit stupid just standing in the doorway though, so I took a step forward and stood stupidly  _inside_ of the room instead. I must've registered on some hidden motion camera, because it was only after I moved that the box started talking again.

"Please have a seat - inmate twelve," It quickly spoke up after I'd shifted uncomfortably.  
My brain did a mental double take at the end of the intercoms sentence. The box's voice had paused just before it said my number - and had been replaced with a second, less metallic voice. It was mindboggling; a bajillion dollar SHIELD-funded program was incapable of making - or buying - a decent AI capable of pronouncing names or numbers. They'd done a bang up job with the voice responsible for names and numbers as well – it was clearly feminine and human, while the majority of the boxes voice was masculine and tinny. _This penitentiary is a joke._   _Half the time Fury's running a hardcore operation, and the other half he's pulling bullshit like this._

Unfortunately, my internal monologue and contemplation of box-voices had drowned out whatever the intercom man-lady was telling me.  
"…ope you will perform to the utmost of your capabilities. Good luck, and thank you for your time."  
 _My time? Is that supposed to be funny? Fuck you Fury._  The top of the large metallic table that I'd been staring at earlier was suddenly illuminated when the box stopped talking, further adding to the already blinding whiteness that was the room's atmosphere. Funnily enough, it looked like a giant iPhone.  
 _Cool – a touchscreen table. But can they make a decent AI? NooOOOooooo._ I leaned further into the room to look at the tabletop, but didn't step any closer. It looked like it had a blown up picture of a word document sprawled across it.

The motion-cameras didn't notice my slight lean, which prompted the intercom to speak up again. "Please make your way to the center of the room and sign on the dotted line."  
 _Hold on, what am I signing? I never agreed to this._  "No…" I muttered out loud, wondering if the AI was capable of responding to voice commands.  
"Please make your way to the center of-"  
"What am I signing?" I shouted a bit louder. Knowing SHIELD, their document was probably filled with double-negatives and unnecessary SHIELD-jargon used to confuse whoever was signing the thing. I doubted that the box would give me a straight answer either.  
The room was quiet for a minute, and if this whole situation wasn't so ridiculous and the AI wasn't so dumb, I'd say it was mulling over my question. Finally, it responded a minute later, "Please make your way to the center of the room and sign your - waiver of release." The second feminine voice made a reappearance at the end again.

I took an involuntary step back through the door in shock. "My waiver of  _what_?!" I shouted. Is  _that_  what it'd been rambling about?  
"Please make your-"  
"I'm not waiving my  _release_!" I shouted in horror. "What the actual  _fuck_?!"  
"Please make your way-"  
"That's bullshit! You have to release me! I've… done nothing wrong!"  
"Please-"  
"LET ME OUT!"  
"-way to the cent-"  
"I WANT OUT!"  
"-oom and sign y-"  
"THAT'S  _FUCKING_  ILLEGAL!"  
"-of release."  
"I'M NOT SIGNING THAT!"

The hell was SHIELD trying to pull, making me give up my right to ever leave this prison? What if I  _was_  innocent? Why would anyone sign that? "You can take your waiver and shove it up your-"  
"If you are not capable of signing the document," the box droned on despite my empty threats, "or if you are mentally incapable of understanding the terms of agreement, please say 'help me'."  
 _Fine_. "Help me!" I shouted at the dumb thing.  _Maybe they'll come in here and explain their stupidity._  
There was a beat of silence, and I watched in helpless horror as the screen zoomed into the line at the bottom of the page and my signature – real name and exact penmanship – was quickly scribbled across the line by an invisible hand.  
 _Oh my go-_  "NO!"  
"We here at SHIELD-"  
"YOU CAN'T DO THAT!"  
"- your continued cooperation-"  
"LET ME OUT!"  
"-you soon."  
"NO FUCK YOU!"

The elevator doors opened at that moment, and the guard that stepped through looked fully prepared to shoot me through the head if I did anything stupid.  
"I didn't sign that! Fuck you!" I shouted at him, and in extent SHIELD, "You fucking shit motherfuckering bastard assho-," he dragged me backwards into the elevator, and struggled to reign me in when I tried to dart back into the other room. "I swear to – no, fuck you!" His grip was bordering on bone-crushing, and he was shouting something incomprehensible either to me or the people in his radio.  
"Shut up!" He yelled – probably at me this time – and prodded at my back with the muzzle of his gun. "Shut your goddamn mouth  _right_  now."  
My mind hushed when I realized he was jabbing his gun into my lower back, and I stood calmly while he tried to simultaneously threaten me with his gun, hold me in place,  _and_ scan his card and press a floor button.  
"Fucking…" he swore and shook me warningly before releasing my arm and pointing the gun at my head instead. "Hold still," he ordered.  
Of course I held still.  
Now that he had one arm free, he quickly picked a floor before he went back to grinding my humerus into a pulp.  
 _  
Why are there fifty floors? This place can't possibly have fifty floors._ The numbers clearly read one through fifty though.  _There're only three floors above ground – SHIELD wouldn't_ seriously _build forty seven basements… would they?_  
Probably.  
"When the doors open," the guard murmured, interrupting my awe of SHIELDs ability to be so… SHIELDy, "You're gonna go to your cell and check in with yer barcode. After that yer free to do whatever you want. The cafeteria will be serving meals at all hours too, since you  _dipshits_  don't all finish your elim runs at the same time."  
"I need to take a leak." I muttered unnecessarily.  
He sighed tiredly and gave my arm one last bruising squeeze before the door opened. "Do as yer told, twelve."

"Duh uhs yuhr tuhld, telve," I muttered under my breath as the elevator closed on the guard.  
"HEY!" He suddenly shoved his arm between the two sliding doors and wrenched them back open.  
 _I'm going to die_. I only managed to spin around and take a quick step away from him before I felt the heavy weight of his hand clamp down on my shoulder. "I-" my apology was cut off when I felt him unlock my cuffs and push me forward.  
"Get a move on." He muttered, and disappeared back into the elevator again.  
This time waited until he was completely out of view to insult him. "Geh ah mah ahn." I whispered petulantly.  
 _Prick._  
  
~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~

I spent the night staring at the ceiling and fiddling with the radio. After today's events, the normally unyielding plywood-like mattress felt like heaven, and the uniform pajamas felt considerably less scratchy than usual. The radio I had was not cooperating though – the sounds that came through were hushed and buzzy at best. Still, it was better than nothing; and I was able to listen in on most of the conversations.

It turns out that despite the deafening silence that engulfs the penitentiary at night, the guards are far from silent. It's funny, because I've never heard them make so much as a peep during the night; when in reality they talk constantly. Every channel – almost every channel - was filled with either idle chatter or updates from around the penitentiary. There were about five channels that were silent, but open. I don't know much about radios, but I did manage to figure out that as long as I didn't hit the tiny 'talk' button or turn the volume up too loud, I should be fine.  
 _I wonder if that guard knows his radio's missing._  He should have by now; it's a pretty important bit of equipment to lose.

Unfortunately, their conversations weren't the, "Hey, this is the code to unlock this door" kind of useful – but the kind of useful that you might end up needing in a tight spot.  
 __  
*Sigh* Forty-seven's still in his elimination cell.  
Is he not signing the thing?  
Intercom's malfunctioned; he's not getting any instructions.  
Shit.

_B2-11's lock won't snap – we need maintenance down here ASAP._  
Roger.  
What?  
Don't be an idiot. I meant roger – I got it.  
Got what? *Snickering*  
I'll report you, you goddamn piece o-  
__  
B clear.  
_D clear._   
_..._   
_Is C clear?_   
_C?_   
_C's clear._   
_Finally. Rounding B east...B1 cleared._   
_Rounding D west… D1 row cleared._   
_..._   
_COME ON C! Pick up the pace, goddamn._

It was getting easy to figure out – one channel for random updates, one for …malfunctioning stuff? Maybe? And one for the regular guards… I think. There were eight others for similarly distributed work. Those eight didn't include the five silent ones – I had yet to figure out what the last five were for. I kept cycling through them anyways, just in case I managed to pick up some random exchange.

_C3 row cleared._  
 _Not yet. Where's C1?_  
S-sorry. I just started yest-  
C1 cleared. Please keep chatter off.  
Ri- yeah. Sorry.  
Sh. B2 row clear, B2-14 is out of bed though.

Okay. B,C, and D must be our cell wing names… so, they checking up on us. How'd the guards know if someone was out of bed though? I've never once noticed them shining a flashlight through the windows; everything was always pitch blac-  _Omigosh_ …  _their goggles._  Sneaky bastards.  _What's that stuff that lets you see in the dark? Infrared, right?_

I continued flipping through the channels for the rest of the night, and was lucky enough to find one of the five silent ones speaking up. It was maintenance. Like, the actual maintenance crews who were busy arguing over whose turn it was to go fix the lock that someone had complained about earlier.

I found it odd that all the guards had access to every single radio channel though – like, this radio I had now could cycle through them all… assuming there were only thirteen stations. I thought the guy I stole it from was just a regular hall guard – and a regular hall guard shouldn't have the privilege of knowing what  _maintenance_  was talking about. Then again… I don't have much insight on how SHIELD operates or how much information they want to give out to their guards. There was the off chance that I had just managed to steal this from a more important guard though; like I'd just been lucky enough to be tackled by that particular one.

I'd hoped that they'd talk about tomorrow's elimination stuff; but the only elimination-related thing they'd talked of was about that guy locked in his cell, and someone named Beady who was exempt from the eliminations for the rest of the week. Maybe they meant Torres? I'm guessing she hadn't told me her real last name, just like I hadn't given her mine. Maybe Beady was her last name and she didn't have to go through the elimination because she was sick. Maybe if I threw up I wouldn't either.

~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~

Many affected citizens felt sick to their stomachs when they thought of their missing loved ones. Their children, significant other, parent, sibling, grandparent, or friend was missing; and for some odd reason, the police were horribly unhelpful. Unfortunately, these people had no way of knowing that there were similar families across the country going through the same struggle - or that SHIELD was keeping the police from advancing any further in their investigations.

Among these affected citizens were the Smiths, and Mister and Misses Smith were not happy. Despite having filed a missing person report, the police remained adamantly useless while simultaneously insisting that they were 'doing their best'. Mister Smith was especially unimpressed, as the police had harassed his wife at her workplace and even insinuated that their child was missing because they'd run away to escape the law. Unfortunately there was not much he could do about it, aside from fume and rant when his wife was out of earshot or dig the heels of his palms into his eye sockets when he sat on the loo and contemplated the unnaturalness of the situation. As most people did in this position, he feared the worst and hoped for the best.

This season was especially hard though, as Christmas was just around the corner and nearly every advertisement or show on TV reminded Misses Smith that this year the family gathering would be just one member short. She'd descend into hysterics, and Mister Smith was usually an hour away at the college teaching a class at the time – he only ever witnessed the painful aftermath of his wife's breakdowns. It was these factors - the tears and the lack of action on the police's behalf - that prompted Mister Smith to take that fateful journey to his child's apartment several states away one weekend.

He wasn't sure what he had expected. He'd browsed enough internet forums and articles and gathered so much contradictory data that he was just as prepared to see the whole place covered in FBI tape as he was to find it already settled in with a new tenant. Instead he found something in the middle.

The two-story apartment complex was completely cleared out – not a single car occupied a parking space or inhabitant looked out from a curtained window. The only source of light that night came from the three orange streetlamps on the other side of the sidewalk. This  _was_  his child's home address though; he was their cosigner; he remembered their happy grin when he offered to help furnish the…

He squashed that thought, and made his way up the open stairs on the far right of the building. His child had lived on the second balconied floor, in room eight. Honestly, the whole place looked more like a very fancy motel than actual apartment, but his youngest had always been fond of smaller rooms for some reason. It might have had something to do with cleaning, or security… Or perhaps they just didn't want to be reminded how alone they were here, and the small rooms and furniture made it seem fuller. There were plenty of larger places to rent that were in the same price range. Maybe it was the location instead.

Whatever the reason, this place had certainly not been deserted three months ago during his last visit. For all he knew, his child could have gone missing the day after he'd left and he wouldn't have been the wiser; it was when they didn't call for his wife's birthday three weeks ago that the Smith's contacted the police.  
And what a help they had been.

He paused outside the door. The window next to it had been smashed in – impossible to gauge when, but it allowed him to reach around inside and unlock the door… probably as the window smasher had done as well. The door creaked open lopsidedly; the bottom hinge had fallen off. Closer inspection revealed that the bottom middle of the metal door also had a dent in it.  
 _Kicked in?_  He wondered.  _Why smash a window to get in when the door kicking had already done the job?  
_ Perhaps they were separate events.  _  
_  
Nevertheless, as he stepped over the threshold and into the living room, he was horrified to realize that either his child's apartment had been well and truly vandalized; or the officers were not lying when they hinted that his youngest had run from the law. Why else conduct such a thorough search and leave the room in the upside down state that it was in now? What had his kid _done_? Where  _were_  they? He'd much rather have them safe and visible in jail than hurt or dead or lost in some… he suppressed a cry at the sight of the broken photo frames containing family and friends on the floor.  
He needed to find his child.

His trip around the apartment took over three hours. Not once did it pass through Mister Smiths mind that he was trespassing or tampering with evidence – there hadn't been any police tape to warrant that thought. There was nothing of monetary value in any of the rooms though; indicating that it probably  _had_  been vandalized… or maybe only the expensive things were of evidential importance to the police.

Out of habit– he'd caught his youngest child criminally hiding something in a similar place once when they were seventeen or so – he checked the doors in all the rooms. On one occasion they had removed the lock and handle from their bedroom door and cut a small compartment into the wood to hide things. Apparently it had only been in use for several months before Mister Smith caught them in the act of tightening the handle back on. His child insisted that the thing was just wobbly and had wanted to tighten it up, but the redden cheeks and tips of the ears suggested something more nefarious than mere household maintenance.

It'd been a failed test. Mister Smith had, at the time, expected something much worse when he stuck two fingers in the gap; like drugs. It had made the 'F' on their test seem so inconsequential that he just about cried with joy. Even now as he unscrewed and pulled off the handle of the door at the end of the apartment, he once again felt his heart drop to his stomach and his limbs grow cold as he recognized the too-big hole neatly carved into the wood on the inside of the handles resting place.  
He doubted it was a failed test nestled inside the wood.  
He wondered why they picked the back door, of all places.


	9. Chapter 9

Between the blanketed sense of panic amongst the inmates and the general chaotic nature of ‘elimination week’, it was near impossible to notice the sudden appearance of a previously missing prisoner. In fact, most residents would be more surprised if you told them that she’d even _left_ in the first place. It came, therefore, as no shock when Torres suddenly sauntered into the cafeteria midweek and was met with nothing but a quick indifferent glance from those who saw movement in their peripheral, and one gawking inmate who insistently held her gaze from across the room.  
  
_Cambell_.   
The lazy lopsided grin that cut across Torres’s face was not forced.  
  
~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~  
  
She looked good for someone who was originally .05 seconds away from heaving her guts onto the floor. Still a bit shaky and sallow though – _shit I hope she’s not contagious_. She also didn’t seem to have an appetite – which was understandable – but did Torres _have_ to stare at me while I ate?  
  
“So…” I started, momentarily setting down my fork in favor of my napkin. _This isn’t awkward at all_. “How was the hospital?” I asked into the paper.  
She shrugged dismissively and looked off to her right. “Therapeutic,” she answered vaguely.  
“Good, good…” I murmured, feigning complete satisfaction with _that_ reply.  
We sat in silence for a moment while she stared off thoughtfully into the distance and I stared dejectedly at my mashed potatoes.  
“How are your elimination runs?” she abruptly asked.  
“Alright.”   
“Mmm.”  
  
We went back to staring at our respective objects, and I lasted a full fifteen seconds before I blurted,  
“It’s absolutely fucking bullshit,” and pushed the tray away from me and leaned onto my elbows towards her. Torres, the little shit, had the nerve to look surprised when she turned to face me - like she hadn’t been hearing the horrors of elimination week and had assumed mine was all sunshine and buttercups. Well maybe she hadn’t heard yet – she’d only been here about thirty minutes… assuming she went straight from the infirmary to the cafeteria. Who wouldn’t?  
“First day they tossed me into some hell-hole basement and made me stay there for like seventeen hours and I had to pee, and _then_ ,” I smacked the flat of my palm against the laminated wood of the table, “they ignore me and forge my signature on some weird voodoo contract that says I can never leave this shit-stand.”  
  
Torres raised an eyebrow – at my swearing or story I didn’t know – but made no move to shush me, so I continued. “So I get back to my cell thinking I can sleep for a moment, but literally like five seconds later they wake me up and throw me back in there, saying now I’ve got to complete some fucking pointless shit task about proving my innocence, which is fucking _bullshit_ ,” I growled out the last bit - noticing that my voice was slowly rising in both volume and hysteria, “because the fucking law says innocent until proven guilty – not this backwater bullshit fucking shit ass system Fury-Fucks got fucking going on with fucking everything!” My hands flailed over my head as I pantomimed and elegant speech, as I was suddenly losing my vocabulary and replacing everything with swears. “Fucking eighty percent hacker the fucking wall-box told me after I did the first ‘innocence task’ – you know what it made me do?”  
  
I glared at her for a beat before she caught on and leaned in.   
“What did they make you do?” she asked softly, face feigning seriousness but eyes crinkled at the edges and clearly giving away her enjoyment of my pain. Or maybe my storytelling abilities.  
“They told me to fucking push the shaped blocks into the corresponding holes in the wall. HOW THE FUCK DOES ME KNOWING HOW TO SHOVE A SQUARE IN THE SQUARE FUCKING HOLE MAKE ME A HACKER?”  
“It doesn’t.” she replied, still leaning in despite my yelling.  
“And the next fucking day, fucking six seconds later; I can’t even get a breather from this fucking stupid fucking program bullshit, they drag me the fuck back in there!”  
She shook her head sadly like it was fucking news to her.  
  
“More fucking bullshit this time, Fury-fuck wants me to connect the colored fucking dots with their corresponding fucking colored strings. But OOOOOH,” I held my hands up in mock surrender and leaned back in my seat. “I’m a hacker now ‘cuz the strings are actually _wires_ ; thirty three fucking percent hacker _that_ round, according to wall-box.”  
Torres leaned back in her seat as well and crossed her arms over her chest. “So where does that leave you?” She asked.  
“Somehow, I’m a fucking hundred and thirteen percent ‘the’ hacker. I’m so fucking hacker, I overshot everything. I’m the fucking terminator of fucking hacking; but bullshit Michael over there,” I jerked a thumb at a man sitting two tables to our left, “is fucking two hundred and _twenty nine_ percent fucking hacker.” I drank angrily – I didn’t know that was even possible until now – from my water bottle and slammed it back down. “Because fuck logic.”  
  
Michael looked over and smiled apologetically. He must’ve felt my glare. Or heard me... probably heard me.  
“This is such…” I opened and closed my fist and glared at it while I tried to form a coherent sentence. “He doesn’t even fucking, like,” I huffed angrily and slammed my hand back down. “Fury’s fucking pulling bullshit out of thin air and doesn’t even bother to cover up the fact that he has no fucking clue what he’s doing.” I sagged back into the seat and stared at my polystyrene tray, suddenly feeling empty. Not better, but emptier. It kinda sucked, and I held in the urge to sniff like a goddamn child.  
  
Torres stayed still, probably thinking that she looked super perceptive and enigmatic with her unreadable face and steady gaze. Really she just looked like she was holding in a stomach ache. Fucking Torres. She probably was too – I’d imagine food poisoning lasts a while.  
“But anyways.” I sighed and leaned forward into my hands to rub them tiredly over my face. “Four more days of this and it’s back to normal.”  
Torres made a short hum of affirmation or denial – I don’t know – and idly rubbed at her wrist.   
We sat there in silence and watched as the inmates filed in and out – some directly from their basement trials, and others moving towards their cells or designated pick up areas for their elim runs. It was depressing. Everyone looked worn down and defeated – with the exception, as per usual, of that stupid group of five. They’d seemed to arrive as the same conclusion that most of us had – that the percentages we were awarded at the end of each trial was just a random number. Unlike the rest of us, they took it in stride and found the whole thing hilarious instead of disheartening.   
  
They blew my fucking mind – these runs were apparently our only way of proving innocence. Who honestly reacts with “lol k” to the realization that your only exit is a joke?  
  
~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~  
  
Cambell snored. Softly. More on the inhale than the exhale – but it was enough to be annoying. Loki stared up at the grey ceiling with his hands folded neatly over his stomach - Torres’s stomach - and reviewed his plan to get into the agentless group of five. It was a hard thing to do with Cambell heavy-breathing all the time. He looked over and glowered at his cellmate’s head, imagining plugging their nose and covering their mouth until they stopped thrashing and their eyes dulled.   
Cambell snorted and rolled over.  
  
This new position was apparently easier on the airways, as the snores came to an abrupt halt and Loki was finally left with his thoughts. Whatever he did, it’d have to be when Cambell and four of the group of five were in the basement. Divide and conquer. The mousy looking boy looked to be the easiest to manipulate, but if the other four were as clever as he thought they were, they’d see it coming. He’d have to get one of the important members to open up. And as Torres, he couldn’t very well aim for the three men – her motive for gaining their trust could be misinterpreted.   
  
_Dweller then_. Loki shut his eyes, pleased that the path forward was relatively clear-cut. He’d just have to remember to tell the guards to take the other four members away as well when they came to collect Cambell in the morning. And be discreet about it.   
  
~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~  
  
Torres snores loud enough to wake the dead. I’d hoped that when she showed back up, my nightly radio-listening escapades wouldn’t be interrupted. I figured that whatever noises the radio made – it didn’t make very loud ones but guilty consciences make everything seem louder – would be covered up by her snores. Well, apparently she wasn’t going to fall asleep tonight so I had to improvise and make my own – and they seemed incredibly put-on because I’ve never snored and wasn’t really sure how to _actually_ do it. I was half afraid she’d accuse me of pretending to sleep and demand to know why I was being so fake.  
Guilty conscience.   
I have no idea why I have one; I’m a wonderful person.  
  
I gave up eventually – the snoring was hurting the back of my throat and the radio wasn’t really saying anything interesting – and rolled over to face the wall. Somewhere along the line I’d fallen asleep, because the next thing I know I’m being pulled up by the shoulder and shouted at for not being at the pick-up area in time. Torres, for some reason, was getting yelled at as well – and she seemed to be patiently waiting the row out. Knowing her, she’d be hitting the punching bags after this. I’d kill to see her snap and actually smack someone – she looks like she could be lethal.   
_I have got to get her to tell me where she learned her stuff_.  
  
I was dragged, pajamas and all, down the hall towards the showers so that I could wash up and change before the trials began again that day. I was too tired to really care that they had _obviously_ called on me five-ish hours too early; besides, there was nothing I could do about it and arguing was a futile endeavor in this place.  
“Piss _off_!” Someone snapped from down another hall. As my guards and I passed the entryway that the voice had come from, I rubbernecked enough to make an owl jealous and tried to check what was going on. It wasn’t a totally unusual sight – just another inmate dragging their feet as a couple guards wrestled them into whatever direction they were supposed to go. It was funny mostly because the inmate had very nearly wriggled his way out of not two but _three_ heavily armed guard’s grubby little mitts – and was seconds away from bolting.   
  
“Move…” One of my own guards said warningly and tapped the small of my back with the muzzle of his gun – as if to dispel any thoughts I had of causing a scene as well. I shrugged a shoulder forward and scowled.  
“I _am_.” _Shitstick_ , I added mentally.  
The guard remained silent, but his smirk was practically palpable. Not that I knew he was smirking… I mean he was behind me, made no sound except for the _‘scuff scuff’_ of his steel-toed boots on the concrete floor… and he had a helmet on that covered the majority of his face. BUT HE WAS GRINNING I JUST KNOW IT. And so were the other guards. Fuck them too.  
I heard a muffled ‘ungh’ and the telltale breathy groan and soft thud as someone – most likely the inmate – was punched in the gut and left to flop gracelessly to the floor. _Bet ten bucks we can’t even sue them for that. SHIELD’ll just make some bullshit excuse like ‘reasonable force’. Hell, I bet somehow_ we’d _be court ordered to pay SHIELD instead – probably for something stupid like lost wages or emotional distress. Fucking… bullshit… ass… balls…_  
  
I was in a perfectly foul mood by the time the elevator doors opened and I was ushered into my two room basement hellhole again. Nothing had changed. The first room still held nothing but the clock, and the second room that it lead into still held only the table and mounted wall-box. Talbot, the name I’d given to the automated male voice that most often came through the wallbox, greeted me as per usual and asked that I take a seat at the table. I still hadn’t figured out if that was supposed to be a joke – since there was no chair, or if a chair actually was supposed to be there and it was just never installed. No one had chairs. I’d asked multiple people, who all turned out to be just as confused as I was.   


Today seemed like it was going to be as aggravating as it normally was – until Talbot dropped a bombshell three seconds into my contemplation of SHIELDs lack of interior decorating.  
“Today, you will be given your own laptop.”  
_Fuck me_. My head snapped up and I stared at the retro intercom tacked to the wall. _Fuck me right now, are you serious?!_ I shouted internally. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that this room was under video surveillance somehow – even if I couldn’t figure out where the camera was. _Act cool, act cool.  
  
_ A soft hissing sound emanated from the funky table in the middle of the room, and I turned to watch the world’s oldest laptop slowly rise from the table’s depths ‘Mission Impossible’ style. It was the dumbest thing I’d ever seen.  
“Today, you will be performing feats of great cunning.”  
“Oh yeah?” I asked sarcastically, moving around the table to stand before the laptop on the other side. Yesterday had been a feat of ‘great dexterity’ according to Talbot.  
I ran a finger around the laptops thick edges. It was old enough to be deemed decently outmoded, but not old enough to be considered cool in an antiquated kind of way. I depressed the button where the lid and keyboard met and stifled the urge to throw the thing across the room. It wasn’t a useless laptop; even the ancient ones perform well enough when needed. It was just aggravating that there was absolutely no way I could feasibly use this thing to escape – even though it was one of the best tools for creating said escape route. Besides a key. Or a gun. Or a full pardon and an open door.   
  
Besides, I was being watched and SHIELD was either _expecting_ me to make some magic and figure out how to escape using this thing, or _expecting_ me to hold back and just do whatever Wallbox told me to do and left it at that, or they were _expecting_ me to refuse even touching the laptop. All roads _somehow_ in some _stupid_ way lead back to SHIELD ruling that I was the hacker. Well. I was. But they weren’t supposed to know that.   
“Today,” Talbot interrupted, “you will be receiving your own SHIELDtop.”  
I tugged at the laptop and tried to turn it over to check the bottom, only to find that the thing was somehow attached to the pedestal that it had risen from. I also tried to keep myself from banging my head on the table at SHIELDs attempt to rebrand the word ‘laptop’.  
“You will be installing a program.” Talbot continued as cheerily as a robotic voice could. My hands stalled their prizing at the plastic sides and I glanced up wearily at the box.  
“Think fast.” It chirped.   
  
A ‘click’ sound alerted me to some action happening near my crotch, and I looked down to find a CD sticking out from the side of the table. I hunkered down and pulled the thing out, then watched as the slot closed and sealed itself so well that the hairline crack that indicated a movable part was all but invisible. _How many of these things are there_? I idly wondered, running a finger over the fissure. _  
_  
 ~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~  
  
A lone guard stood between Sophia and her cell, and judging by the shoulder-width planted feet and stern gaze, he obviously was not going to let her climb the stairs to her second-floor cell. She wondered why.   
“Use the next stairwell.” He said firmly.  
Sophia scowled at him but continued down the hall without rising to the bait he so neatly laid. She refused to start out her mornings in a foul mood, because in the penitentiary it was only possible for things to go worse – so starting out bad was never good.  
_Seven, eight, nine…_ “Ten, eleven, twelve…” she whispered on her exhale. Inhale… _Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen…_   
She reached the top of the stairs just in time to see one of her friends being escorted down the other stairwell at the far end of the hall – the one she was just shooed away from. He looked down to her end for a brief  moment before he was out of sight. Sophia frowned - he had had one of those looks where the communicator tried to say something with their eyes; all raised-brow and wide-eyed like. _Something’s going on…?_  
  
Sophia stared intently at her cell door a few paces away. Was there someone inside? Was her friend in trouble? She couldn’t do anything about that. _Maybe Beckett knows…_ She turned to head to the wing that the rest of her group of friends stayed – and collided with another inmate.   
“Fucking-!” Sophia barked before she could censor herself. “Excuse me.” She muttered coldly, and strode back towards the stairwell.  
“I wouldn’t go down there if I were you.” The inmate she’d just run into muttered.  
Sophia turned to eye the newcomer wearily, “Why not?” she asked in a clipped tone.  
“I heard your name tossed around coming up.” The newcomer flicked her head and the loose strand that had been in her eyes settled back behind her ear. “Might be nothing - but you never know.”  
“And how do you know my name?” Sophia asked, furrows between her eyes growing deeper. She did not trust this woman.  
“I’ve been sitting not even two tables away from you in the cafeteria for the majority of our time here.” She replied nonchalantly.  
  
Sophia squinted and tried to place the woman’s face. “Yeah… what’s your name?” she asked.  
“Torres.”  
“Weren’t you sick?” Sophia suddenly blurted and straightened her head back up – it’d unconsciously tilted as she studied the inmate.   
“How could you have possibly known I was gone?” Torres asked, grinning widely.  
Sophia snorted softly and quirked the side of her mouth, “Heard your friend complaining loudly. Twice.”  
Torres nodded.  
“Weren’t you hospitalized?” Sophia asked.  
  
_Ah, there it is_. Loki grinned internally like a cat that had just cornered a mouse. He’d arrived at this portion of the conversation sooner than he’d hoped.  
“Yes.” Torres said, “Only for a couple of days though. They have a few rooms up on the third floor-”  
“Third floor?” Sophia interrupted.  
“Yes, I think it’s like…” Torres cocked a hip and squinted off into the distance, “…pretty sure it’s above the one that overlooks the cafeteria. Not sure though, there were a lot of corners.”  
Loki looked back to his captivated audience and wondered when they’d ask for more details. Currently, Sophia looked like she was trying to chew her words and keep them from all tumbling out. It took a few more weary squints before she unclenched her jaw and, “You want to sit with us for dinner?” She asked. “I mean,” Sophia feigned indifference and shrugged, “if your cellmate isn’t around.”  
  
Sophia watched as Torres glanced down briefly at the ground before furrowing her brow and nodding slowly. “Sure,” she agreed, then looked up and flashed a grin. “ _If_ Cambell’s not around; my cellmate’s a little… loud.”  
Sophia snorted again. “Yeah,” She agreed.  
“Right, well,” Torres backed away slowly towards the stairwell. “See you later, Draper.”  
Sophia froze, then relaxed and grinned. “Nooo, my surname’s Dweller.”  
Torres cocked her head and suddenly looked worried. “ _You’re_ Dweller?” she asked. “…But the guards on the stairs…” she jerked her thumb over her shoulder, “they said they were after Draper.”  
“Well you missed him,” Sophia said. “He was just being pulled off as you came up.”  
“Ah…eh…” Torres looked moderately stricken. “Sorry, I… oops. Mixed you two up.”  
Sophia waved a hand dismissively. “It’s fine, they would’ve gotten him anyways.”  
“My bad, though.” Torres looked to her hand on the guardrail. “I’ll get it by dinner.” She turned and stepped lightly down the stairs.   
  
Sophia watched as Torres made her way down until she was out of view. She wondered if the rest of her group of friends would be upset with her welcoming a newcomer in; but Torres was the only one who’d been that far out of bounds and come back. The unpleasant thought that this inmate could be a snitch – or worse, an agent – gnawed at the back of her mind, but the risk right now might be worth it. Candle – or whatever their name was, might be a liability though. Hopefully Torres and her cellmate could be separated.  
  
~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~  
  
Loki strolled back towards his and Cambell’s cell, perfectly pleased that he’d been able to accomplish in two minutes what had taken Fury’s team more than eight years - and counting. He sincerely believed that the hacker was one of the five, or all five together; it all just fit so well. This was the first step towards proving them - however many – guilty. And getting the hell off this planet.   
  
The trip back was relatively uneventful, but Torres grinned at the guard stationed nearby her cell as she entered, and relished the sudden tensing of his jaw beneath the helmet. _Little pleasures_ , Loki thought.   
  
~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~  
  
After groping the sides of a computer long enough to make anyone who’d been watching uncomfortable, the computer whirred – literally – to life like a particularly noisy purring cat. It’d been easy enough to figure out that this was no ordinary outdated machine. In fact, it was only designed to look ancient. A little name engraved into the plastic and a small sticker proclaimed that this déclassé piece of trash was an IBM ThinkPad from somewhere around 1997 – but that was bullshit. Only the casing around the important bits was from 1997, and there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that the reason this thing was incapable from being pulled off its pedestal was because the real machine was below the table. Maybe the whole table contained the computers drives and interconnected parts, and this plastic thing was just the controls. The shit I could pull off. Fuck I wish I wasn’t in jail.  
  
The screen flashed and informed me I was running on Windows 95, before stopping on the login screen. The only user available for me to pick was administrator. _Well fuck_. There was obviously no password. Because of course, they wanted me to go around it. I stared at the screen for what seemed like hours before Talbot Wallbox got annoyed with my lack of movement and prompted me into action.   
“Think fast.” It repeated, complete with clicking noise indicating that the CD slot on the side of the table had opened again to dispel its contents – which were no longer there. I rolled my eyes, and twirled the CD around my fingers. _Hum… maybe…_  
  
At this point I decided to figure a way past the login. I mean, I was already here for other unrelated hacking stuff – it shouldn’t come as a surprise when SHIELD found out I could do this much at least. Others could too, it wasn’t that exciting. But I had a sinking suspicion that the CD I was given wasn’t a computer game for me to play. I stuck the CD into its drive, then slid the thing home and restarted the bulky machine, and waited for the change in computer screen scenery. Windows made a brief appearance before the screen switched to black and displayed… yup. SHIELD had given me a ‘password recovery’ tool, and it looked suspiciously like Ophcrack. Which… meant someone was lying; because I was 2000% sure that ophcrack didn’t work on Windows 95. Either this wasn’t Windows, that wasn’t Ophcrack, or both were neither. _Fuck my head hurts._     
  
It made sense now why SHIELD had called on Mister Stark and Doctor Banner – and probably a bajillion other computer-wise morons who remained behind the scenes to work on this penitentiary. They were trying to trip us up using shit we were familiar with. And _how_ the _hell_ did we go from matching shapes and colors to cracking computer passwords?   
“Think fast!” _click._  
Piece of shit.

I pressed ‘any key to continue’ and watched in vague fascination as the screen changed again to confirm – quite loudly thanks to the bright green font and bubble letters – that this was indeed ophcrack… or at least trying very hard to be. I had a few options on how I wanted the thing to run, and went with the ‘I’m not a hacker and I don’t know what I’m doing’ response and selected the ‘automatic’ option to keep my input to a bare minimum.  
_If Wallbox doesn’t tell me I’m 0% hacker after this, I’m going to be very upset._


	10. Chapter 10

Mister Smith wasn’t entirely sure what he’d pull out from the small hole in the door – he was as equally prepared to feel something nip his fingers as he was ready to find nothing at all. Instead he got something in between – a minutely folded envelope and a papercut. He withdrew his two fingers from the compartment and tugged the envelope through the hole, careful not to rip it. It was a crinkled yellow-white thing with a window, and judging from the return address in the top left, it had held an electricity bill at one point. He quickly glanced nervously around the room, unable to shake the sudden feeling that he was being watched or doing something illegal - which was ridiculous; someone had broken into his child’s home and he had every right to be here. Mister Smith looked back down warily to the envelope before decidedly stuffing it into his jacket pocket and setting off at a brisk pace out of the apartment. He’d open the envelope at home, where he’d feel a lot more at ease.   
  
As it were, Mister Smith actually just made it one city over before his curiosity got the better of him. _What if it’s nothing and I’m getting my hopes up?_ He wondered, and then paled at the successive thought; _What if it’s a suicide note?_ He pulled into a supermarket parking lot that quickly came up on his right and parked near the back, away from the small cluster of cars near the entrance. It was close to 3 a.m., what anyone was doing in the store was beyond him. He was away from prying eyes though, and underneath the dim orange glow of one of the lights that dotted the parking lots landscape, he pulled the envelope from his pocket and tilted it into the light.   
  
Using every ounce of deductive logic he had, Mister Smith tried to piece together the small clue. The bill had been paid – it had ‘paid’ written in bright red marker on the top right, probably the child reminding themselves they’d dealt with it already. It had also been stepped on at one point or another – he could see the tread marks, and it had played coaster to a coffee cup as well. That was all he could see on the outside anyways – but it was probably what was inside that really counted. With that in mind, he forwent the forensic investigation and instead tipped the contents of the envelope into the palm of his hand.   
  
The first thing that fluttered loose was a small strip of paper. It was a fortune from some unknown fast-food Chinese restaurant’s cookie, with the words ‘ _Now is the time to try something new!_ ’ printed on one side, and a string of lucky numbers (and the word ‘cat’ in Chinese) written on the back. _Odd,_ he thought. Perhaps the fortune had sentimental value. Mr. Smith slipped the small piece of paper into his wallet behind the picture of his family, and then unwrinkled the envelope again and shook it, hoping to dislodge whatever else was hidden inside. To his surprise, a bright green USB stick fell out and dropped onto his lap. Mister Smith picked it up turned it over in the light, inspecting the cramped scrawled lettering that wrapped around the stick.   
‘ _Don’t you dare_.’   
  
~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~  
  
Well. The day had started off weird enough; Torres had returned, I’d been sent to my elimination cell five hours too early and then we switched gears from ‘toddler play-time’ tasks to ‘actually-break-into-this-computer’ tasks in point five seconds - only to have a guard burst in halfway through the cracking process to tell me I was taking too goddamn long. Whiplash, man, I’m telling you; I was in the cell for maybe, like, thirty minutes; only he was babbling on about me being in here for three hours, and that I was being purposefully obstinate, and that I was going to be ‘taken in’ if I didn’t behave myself this instant.  
  
To add insult to injury, Torres looked absolutely murderous when she saw me enter the cell once I’d been escorted back up. She glared at the guard in equal measure though, as if it was his fault I was there (it was) – or maybe she was pissed he even existed in the first place. The guard had done a double-take and looked between the both of us before he took a breath like he’d just realized something and was going to comment on it, before he quickly shuffled out of sight and muttered into his collar about ‘pulling the wrong one’ – which I only heard because I was currently yanking the shirt over my head while simultaneously sneakily trying to get the button radio off my collar.   
  
Torres, meanwhile, continued to glare out the door and tugged on her ID bracelet.   
“It’s okay, you know,” I consoled her as I pulled on my pants; “I don’t think they’ll make you do an elim run when you’ve already missed the first three.”  
She said nothing, but I was determined to cheer her up. She was obviously worried that my early return heralded her own detainment for an elimination run. _I know what’ll cheer her up.  
_ “Hey, Tor, c’mon, we’ll go punch things. It’ll be great.”  
She looked at me sharply, like I’d just said something offensive.   
_I am not good at cheering people up.  
_ “I thought you liked hitting things?”  
Again, the glare.   
I sighed and flopped gracelessly onto the edge of my bunk. “All right then,” I muttered, “whaddayou wanna do?”  
  
She looked murderous. I mean, Torres seemed to have a resting angry face in the first place - or maybe not so much angry as irritated. That and the fact that her favorite pastime was destroying punching bags and _running_ , for God’s sake, only further enhanced her ‘don’t fuck with me’ persona. Coming back from the infirmary though, I figured she’d be looking slightly less scary. Nope. Her cheeks had hollowed a bit (from not eating for a few days, I suppose), she’s got some heavy bags under her eyes (also understandable), and seemed paler than usual - and even more irritated. I mean, usually she just looks upset, but now she _is_ upset. And I can’t figure out why, because she doesn’t tell me anything.   
  
We stared ahead of ourselves for a moment – she at the door and I at her bunkbed across the room. _Freedom_. The epiphany hit me like a freight train. _She was free for a couple of days and now she’s pissed ‘cuz she’s back. Of_ course. I wanted to facepalm, it was so obvious. _Yeah she looks sick still, but that’s not why she’s upset._ It wasn’t me after all!  
  
~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~  
  
Loki wasn’t sure if he wanted to kill the guard, Fury, or his cellmate more. He had a _plan_ , but of course it gets ruined. How could he have been so naïve to expect anything else than complete fucking derailmen-  
“-but that wasn’t even the worst part.”  
Loki cocked his head to where Cambell lay spread-eagle on their bunkbed, muttering to thin air.   
“The worst part was the fact that they had this Mission-impossible style pedestal that presented the thing to you. I cringed, Tor. I felt embarrassed for Fury.”  
 Loki ignored the prattling twat and tried to come up with a way to keep his cellmate from entering the cafeteria during dinner. The five-group wouldn’t talk to Torres if Cambell was there as well; they only barely trusted him in the first place – the cellmate was a liability. _I may have to foist Cambell onto another agent; it’s too much watching over them_ and _the group of five_.    
  
~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~   
  
“Darling, listen to me,” Mister Smith consoled his wife, draping an arm over her shoulder and tapping her elbow. “Listen love.”  
Misses Smith would have none of that though, and continued to blubber into the decorative tea cozy that their child had made back in third grade.  
“Sweetheart,” Mister Smith attempted again, and sighed at its apparent futility. Honestly, he was jealous, he would love to be the one sobbing into that tea cozy right now.   
  
It had all started so well. She’d asked him why he was so late coming home, and he had explained that he’d gone over to their child’s apartment, to which the misses suddenly lit up and asked if anything had been found. In retrospect, Mister Smith probably _shouldn’t_ have said that the apartment was clearly burglarized and tossed upside-down, and that the only thing of note was a cookie-fortune and a USB stick.    
  
The crying was getting them nowhere though. “Darling,” he said, trying again with the sweet-talk. It usually worked. “I’m going to go see what’s on this thing, alright?”  
Misses Smith’s crying only intensified, and while Mister Smith did feel very sorry for her, he also wanted to know what was so important on the stick that their child had felt the need to hide it so thoroughly.   
“I’ll let you know if it’s anything important, okay?” And with that, Mister Smith straightened and made his way to the den. _I hope it’s not a suicide note_. Somehow he doubted it would be, though.What on earth could a college drop-out gas station manager have that warranted a hiding space and USB stick? Why wasn’t it in the safe with the other important documents?   
  
The screen of the family computer whirred to life when he shook the mouse, and Mister Smith fumbled with the USB and wedged it in the wrong way twice before properly inserting it. He sighed nervously when he saw the notification on the screen telling him he’d stuck something into the computer, but he mustered his courage despite his trepidation to right click the icon and select ‘open’.   
  
~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~  
  
Cambellcould not be shaken. No hint was taken – and if it was recognized, it was usually brushed off as a joke. Which was why, ten hours later, Loki was slumped over at the table he usually did with Cambell dutifully sitting across from him. Cambell, at least, looked visibly downtrodden. _Good_. _At least they’re unhappy too._   
  
~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~  
  
It was official. Torres was an asshole. I’d spent the whole day reacquainting her with the prison, taking her to hit punching bags (she wouldn’t even touch it!) running laps around the gym (outran me) and I even helped her with her stupid laundry (she claimed she was too sick to do it). What did I get for it? Snide comments and dismissiveness. _At least neither of us is hungry; bet she’d ask me to chew her food for her too._  
  
I glared at the cards in my hand and mentally reshuffled the deck. Unfortunately, all I could remember in the trash pile was the first three cards, so that was useless. Not that it mattered; she had that smug look again. I sighed and discarded, to which she gleefully drew, put down her sets, and discarded as well.   
“Bitch.” All I got for that comment was an eyebrow twitch. “Pretty sure you’re cheating.” I muttered sullenly.   
Torres chuckled and leaned across the table towards me. “Prove it.” She whispered.   
_Asshole_. I looked away from her feral grin and watched the rest of the prison filter in through the doors instead. _Asshole, asshole, asshole._ She was making me uncomfortable too; she was so confrontational all of a sudden. I can understand being pissed at coming back to this place, but for fuck’s sakes it wasn’t _my_ fault. _Whatever_. I dismissed mentally _. I_ _don’t have any other friends here. Not that she’s… friendly or anything._ She almost was. Just before she got food poisoning she was sort of warming up to me. Looks like all that work just backslid to square one.   
  
I glanced back to her out the corner of my eye. She was also watching the door, albeit with some serious amount of intensity. _That’s another thing about Torres_ ; I mused and looked up to the high ceiling above us. _Doesn’t really have a lazy gaze and never stares off into the distance. She’s always_ looking… a _bit like a hawk_. At least that part of her hadn’t changed. I wonder how she got caught, though. _I bet she wrecked the agents first_. I grinned at the thought of her busting down SHIELDS doors instead of the other way around.  
“Tor.”  
“Stop calling me that.”  
_Oh for fucks sakes_. “Tor- _res._ ”  
She ignored me. I’d long ago given up giving-up when she ignored me though; she usually gave me answers if I nagged long enough. Some answers.   
“How’d SHIELD get you?”  
She hmm’ed and tapped a finger on the table. “Same way you did.” She replied vaguely.  
“You mean the agents busted down your door, set off the alarms, accidentally tripped on some bed sheets and caused a massive pile up and a two second window to escape?”  
  
Torres finally turned to face me, and I couldn’t help but grin. “’Cuz that’s what mine did.”  
“Clearly you didn’t run fast enough. Perhaps if you’d taken up joggi-”  
“I was too surprised,” I interrupted, “I didn’t have a chance to react. One second there’re people falling through my door, the next second I’ve got four guns and a snarling dog pointed at my face.”  
“Sounds exciting.” She murmured.  
“So what about you?” I asked.  
Torres tapped on the table again, probably weighing the consequences of revealing something of herself. I mean, we’re both pretty private people. Neither one of us even know the others first _fake_ names. Still, it was kind of… calming talking about what happened - didn’t realize that until now though. _Man I should have done this earlier_.   
“I was arrested while jogging through the park.”  
_Why am I not surprised._ “You’re kidding me.” I deadpanned. “What did they do? Tackle you? Couldn’t you outrun them or punch them or something?”  
Torres raised an eyebrow. “I couldn’t hear them.” She explained. “I had inserted a pair of headphones in my ears.”  
_Inserted a… okay._ I nodded anyways and didn’t mock her (not that she’d do the same for me) for her odd choice of wording.  
“They accused me of cyberterrorism.”  
“Same here.”  
“But I am innocent.”  
I ‘hmph’-ed and grabbed the cards to shuffle them again. “Best of seventeen?”  
“Deal me in,” came a voice from my right.   
  
A woman sat down at the head of the table with her tray of food and smiled. Well, grimaced. It was a fake smile but it looked like she’d maybe just hit her shin on something.   
“Hello.” Torres said amiably.  
The intruder, who was definitely from the group of five, nodded in Torres’s direction and waved the fork that she’d just pulled from its wrapper behind her, “Why you not sitting with us?”  
“Well…” Torres paused whatever she was about to say, but I could practically hear her incline her head towards me. I pretended to be completely engrossed in shuffling the cards, even though it was impossible not to hear them.   
The new woman sighed, and shifted to address me and extended a hand. “Sophia Dweller.”  
I looked up from the cards and eyed her warily. Her once purple and black dyed hair was fading back to brown after spending nearly two months in here. She was a good five inches shorter than Torres – who was pushing just over six feet - and judging by the small punctures dotting her face, had a lip, nose, and eyebrow ring thing going on at one point. Confiscated by SHIELD, no doubt; she still had her gauges though.   
“Cambell.” I replied a moment later, taking her offered hand.  
She frowned slightly, but didn’t comment on my lack of first name.   
  
“You don’t mind if I steal your friend for a moment, do you?” She asked.  
I felt my gut twist slightly for some odd reason, but shrugged and looked over to Torres. “Torres can do whatever the hell she wants.” I said, with some amount of spite creeping into my voice. Ignoring the smirk from Torres’s stupid blonde face, I picked up the cards and got up from the table. “See if _you_ can get her to tell you where the security room is.” I muttered as I passed Dweller.   
  
~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~  
  
Mister Smith knew the moment the USB window popped up that he should click on the folder titled ‘Dont Open’. Who names a folder something like that and expect people not to open it? If it turned out to be a porn collection though, he was going to be furious. The folder, however, would not open. No amount of right and double clicking would get it open. He decided instead to drag and drop it onto the desktop then, to see if that would change anything. Misses Smith wandered in after the folder was dropped, and watched over her husband’s shoulder.  
  
“Was that all?” She asked.  
Mister Smith hummed and clicked the file, hopeful that this time it would open. Inside was a tiny computer icon, with the same title as the folder.   
“Say ‘yes’,” Misses Smith instructed after a dialogue box popped up asking whether or not they would like to allow the program ‘Dont Open’ to make changes to their computer.  
Mister Smith huffed internally and selected yes.  
“Is this a CD?”  
“What? No dear.”  
“But it wants to change the computer.”  
“I don’t know what it’s doing, but it belonged to-”  
“I know that, but why is it taking so long to download?”  
“It’s… big?” Mister Smith replied hesitantly.   
“Maybe one of the kids knows…” Misses Smith murmured, wondering which one of their four kids would be able to help with something like this.  
“Let’s just leave it to download,” Mister Smith said as he rose out of the chair. “We can check it again in the morning.”  
“It’s five a.m. dear.”  
“Oh. Well, after dinner.”  
  
~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~  
  
My original plan was to walk out the cafeteria and back to the cell with my tail tucked between my legs. I’d forgotten that they bolt the cafeteria doors once dinner starts, so I ended up walking to the locked door and rattling it like a twat. Ignoring the guards giving me looks behind their goggles; I sat down at the nearest empty table and pretended to scratch my ear for a second. The radio used to feel uncomfortable whenever I stuck it in, but I must’ve gotten used to it because now I can barely feel it. What I could nearly feel though, once I turned it on, was the panic on the other side. Snippets of conversations and channels overlapped each other to create a cacophony of barked orders and general mayhem.  
_Shut up… c’mon…_ I pressed the thing deeper into my ear while leaning onto one hand. It was hard changing the stations like this.   
“In the- four forty nine”  
“Compromised…”  
“Stark… Direc- later!”  
“- online.”  
I smoothed over my facial features that I could feel bunching up into a scowl. _Something_ had just happened.   
  
~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~  
  
Mister Smith wasn’t very familiar with computers. He was sure, however, that a computer should not be going around deleting his things and… whatever else it was doing now. He’d left the computer open during the day while he was at work to give his child’s folder thing time to download. He came home to find that it had not only deleted all his things off the computer, but had opened itself and was now ‘combing’ something, according to the little box on top of the screen that listed all the things it had already done. ‘Delete shit’ was apparently the first thing it had been instructed to do.   
  
Then came ‘setup shit’, ‘fix shit’, ‘install shit’, ‘patch shit’, ‘tea’, and now ‘comb shit’. _Maybe I should call someone from IT_? He wondered if the IT people from the university he worked at would mind taking a look at his computer. He was good friends with a couple of them, as he had problems with microphones nearly daily.    
A ding alerted him that ‘comb shit’ could not be completed, and wanted to know if he would like to retry. He selected ‘no’, at which point ‘fix shit’ reappeared in the box. ‘Turn it on and off again’ hadn’t worked for him either, but he wasn’t quite sure if he wanted to pull the battery out. This was his kid’s stuff; surely there was a point to it. _I suppose it’s a good thing I didn’t use my work computer for this._   
  
Mister Smith clicked on the box showing all the processes that had and were occurring, and found that he could expand them all.   
_Delete shit… clear cached… good lord, it deleted the internet? How? Where did it go? Setup… Servos? Fix programs, install on shield... patch previous… what?_ ‘Tea’ consisted of multiple pictures of the director of SHIELD wearing pink tutus. ‘Comb shit’ was supposed to go through files – though whose Mister Smith couldn’t figure out, as his were all clearly deleted in step one. There was an error code for ‘comb’, but the string of numbers meant nothing to him. What was new though was a folder on the desktop that popped up once ‘comb’ failed… which had nothing but hundreds of blank notepad documents.   
  
Again, another box popped up announcing that ‘fix shit’ had been completed and wanted to know if ‘user’ wanted to ‘fuck shit up again?’  
_This is the most foul mouthed… thing… I’ve ever seen in my life._ After a moments contemplation he clicked the ‘why not’ button, and watched as it once again moved on to install, patch, tea, and comb.  _  
_  
~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~  
  
Tony Stark watched with no small amount of smugness as the hacker tried to gain access into SHIELDs systems. Jarvis was putting up one hell of a fight, and the program had been shut down and quarantined less than two minutes after detection.   
“See, I told you this would work.” Tony looked over his shoulder to where Fury stood behind him, watching the multiple screens as well.   
“Can you figure out where it came from?” Fury asked.   
“Of course.” Tony said in his best duh voice. “…Jarvis, where did it come from?”  
“Multiple points sir, most of them from within SHIELDs main office.”   
Fury’s countenance visibly darkened. “I thought you said you got rid of it?” His question was directed both at Tony as well as the SHIELD IT people assigned to assist him.  
“Yeah, well,” Tony began.  
“Sir, we are being invaded again.” Jarvis interrupted.  
“Well, deal with it.”  
“I have. This attack originated from many locations, but the infected SHIELD computers only accounted for 12% of the sites.”  
“And?” Fury growled, and threw up a hand dismissively. “You telling me there’s fifty thousand hackers out there?”  
  
“No, they’re, well, it’s sort of like…” Tony scratched the back of his head. “Like a… uhm. Like a ghost? And it kind of… it can make things in your house wobble a bit, and like… invite ghost friends… and… but if you can get a good priest, I guess… but you’ll always remember that the ghost was there and maybe it broke that vase your grandmother gave you. But it… if there isn’t a ghost hunter you won’t really know where it came from, and they might lie to you, and maybe the ghost _wasn’t_ really from th-”  
“Forget it. Just get rid of it and find our hacker.” Fury muttered dismissively.  
“This thing might be setup to run itself,” Tony said as he fiddled with one of the computers. “Your hacker might actually still be in the prison.”  
“Or, we missed him.” Fury said firmly.   
Tony sighed and muttered about hard-asses under his breath.  
“Sir-”   
“Just deal with it Jarvis.”  
“They’re awfully persistent all of a sudden.” Jarvis quipped.  
“Maybe we hit a nerve. Have you done any PSA’s recently mien-Fury?”   
“Sir.”  
“Jarvis, I told you to just-”  
“One of the quarantined folders is a main component of SHIELDs antivirus.”  
Tony frowned. “They did that last time too… just leave it, don’t delete it.”  
  
~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~  
  
‘Would you like to commence operation ‘shit on everything’?’  
Mister Smith sighed and clicked the ‘third times a charm’ button, though it was actually only the second time he was doing this. The computer program spoke like his child did, and these were the most unorthodox dialogue boxes he’d ever seen in his life. Whatever this thing was doing, it was obviously made by his kid. _I had no idea they could make things like this…_  
  
He had no idea what all the buttons and tabs did. All he ever clicked were variations of ‘yes’ and ‘no’. He could read what the program was doing at that point in time, but sometimes it just listed folder locations and operations that he didn’t understand. What he _could_ understand was that ‘comb’ had failed again, and the program – Servos, apparently - suggested that the user should discontinue the infiltration operation as it had encountered too many ‘really fucking catastrophic failures’. It suggested an attack operation instead. _Third times a charm, I suppose_.    
  
~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~  
  
A sudden flickering of the lights just before Torres and I tucked in for the night was the only indication I had that Jarvis was attempting to fight off an intrusion. I thought nothing of the lights, as my mind was preoccupied with whatever the hell had caused such uproar during dinner. The overall security channel had gone absolutely silent, as had the general updates, and maintenance channel. All that was left was the channel devoted to hall guards, the last five stations who had always been silent, and the one that had recently been changed to janitorial staff – who I _never_ saw during the day. They were like little house elves – the prison was just magically clean come morning.   
  
Torres came back from dinner as smug as a cat that ate a canary – probably rubbing it in that she was now a ‘cool kid’ or whatever because the fivers liked her. I remained as bitter as ever, and realized just how desperate I was for her attention when I found myself considering telling her about the radio.   
_‘I just found it on the floor’_ , I’d say.   
_‘Cambell you’re the smartest.’_ Torres would say.  
_‘Yes and I’m the hacker too, you can be my sidekick.’  
‘Oh Cambell, you’re so illegal.’  
‘Yes. And rich. Let’s buy a tiger.’  
‘Oh, Cambell!’_  
“Cambell.”  
‘ _We can totally break out of here and outrun them forever.’  
“_ Cambell!”  
_‘Cambell isn’t my real name; my real name i-’  
_ “CAMBELL!”  
  
I jerked out of my daydream and looked over to where Torres sat slumped on her mattress.  
“Yeah?”  
“Don’t you want to know what we talked about?”  
I scowled and looked up to the ceiling. “That’s your business; I’m not going to ask.”  
Torres chuckled humorlessly. “That’s never stopped you from asking about other personal matters.”  
I grunted in response and rolled over to face the wall. I expected her to drop the conversation and drift off into sleep – but she just really wanted to prove how much cooler she was than I.  
“The roguish looking one – Draper? He claims he created the program that broke into SHIELD.”  
I felt my gut twist and temper flare.      
“But he also said he sold it, and wasn’t the one who used it to commit the crime.”  
Again I felt the heat rise up and color my face, and resorted to pinching my wrist to keep from shouting that he had _shit all_ to do with anything.   
Torres was silent for a moment, contemplating what to say next. “Did you hear the guards talking?” She suddenly asked.  


“Yeah,” I responded unthinkingly, “I was wondering what that was about.”  
Torres stayed quiet again, probably assuming I had something else to say. When she didn’t continue, I did instead.   
“I mean, I didn’t hear much, but it sounded like something important happened – something compromised or something, I don’t know.”  
Torres continued to bore holes into my back with her stare. Felt like it, anyways.   
“Interesting.”  
“What did you pick up?” I asked, not willing to let her lapse into aggravated silence again.   
“Just that two more inmates had been released.”  
I froze, deer in headlights, and realized that we were talking about two completely separate events.   
Torres remained silent though, and I wasn’t about to roll over to check her expression. _Shit. Don’t say anything, don’t say anything._ It worried me that she wasn’t concerned enough to pursue whatever I was talking about. _Maybe she didn’t notice it_.   
  
I lapsed into uneasy sleep and prayed that my second strike remained unchecked.


	11. Chapter 11

Jarvis had done his very best to try to trace the intrusion into SHIELDs system, but every lead turned into either a rabbit trail or wild goose chase. To add insult to injury, the attacks were always aimed at the same place – SHIELDs security system. It was easy to block these attempts at disabling the antivirus because they were predictable and unchanged, but he couldn’t, for the life of him, figure out where it came from. It was like a scene from that god-awful ‘Benchwarmers’ movie Stark watched sometimes. The kids would ‘ding dong ditch’ someone’s door and then dash away before they were seen and caught – and it usually ended with the homeowner tearing their hair out, so to speak. If their own intruder was to be caught or traced there’d have to be some preemptive moves made on SHIELDs part. Or his. The attacks, at least, had stopped after their thirty eight hour long barrage. Unfortunately though, even at a full week later, nothing new had been uncovered and SHIELD was at a dead end once more.  
  
“Might I suggest a worldwide prohibition of personal computers?” Jarvis chirped helpfully.   
Tony shook his head and frowned at the stack of papers Banner had handed him earlier. “Why do I let you sass me?” He muttered halfheartedly at Jarvis’s answer to his question ‘what now?’  
“That’s not a bad idea.” Fury called from his side of the office, equally deep in paperwork from Banner.   
“It’s literally the worst idea you’ve had in the last fifteen seconds.”  
“It’d fix a lot of problems...”  
“Yeah,” Tony said irritably as he tugged at the staple in the corner of the paper packet, “and make a hell of a lot more… look at this…” he waved the pages vaguely above his head and motioned around the room. “You’ve hit the point of crazy where I’m legitimately concerned that you’ll act on any deranged thing you say.”    
“And what makes you think I won’t act on every deranged thing I say?” Fury asked, turning and glowering at Stark.   
The two men waged a battle of glares for a moment before Tony whined, “that’s a joke too, right? ‘ooh look at me I’m the scary director, fear me.’” Tony imitated Fury’s manner of speech and flailed his arms a bit more.   
  
Whatever Fury was about to say next was cut off by a smart rap on the door, followed by Natasha letting herself in a second later.   
She looked between the two of them and could practically feel the tension coming off in waves. “It’s Loki.” She muttered.  
Fury sprang to his feet. “FUCK-”  
“He wants to discuss something with you.”  
The director remained frozen for a second before visibly letting his shoulders drop and sinking back into his chair. “Thank God.” He groaned under his breath.   
Tony, likewise, relaxed the muscles he suddenly found tensed and ready to spring into action.   
“Okay… well…” Fury sighed into the palms of his hands as he rubbed them tiredly over his face.   
  
Natasha waited patiently as the director seemingly tried to throw together some kind of plan.   
“Is he still in his cell?” He asked.  
“No, I moved him to his room,” Natasha said, picking at loose string on her glove. “He caused a stir at one of the entrances.”  
“For the love of- meet me above the cafeteria in an hour. You,” Fury said, rising again and glaring at the back of Starks head. “You get Banner and, I don’t know, maybe _find out where the attack came from?_ ”  
Tony pulled a face before turning to smile sweetly at the director, “sure thing mein führer… Fury.”  
Fury ignored the jab and instead followed Natasha out. Tony considered leaving as well, but sighed and put aside his pettiness for a moment to call Banner for help. _The things I do for this group._  
“Jarvis, call Banner and find the hacker.”  
“I’ll get right on that, sir.”  
  
~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~  
  
“Good sleep?” I asked, taking in Torres’s bed hair and dried drool that made a streak across her left cheek. Torres did the shoulder-slump and sigh thing that I’d notice I’d in the morning as well, when you wake up and remember you’re some place you really don’t want to be... which was progress. I remember the day she first came back from the infirmary, she had walked around like she had a stick up her ass and wanted to take it out and beat people with it. She seemed to be back to her old self, which was good for her, and bad for me, because now…  
“It was better before you opened your mouth.”  
She was back to being her wonderful self.   
“Well you should’ve kept yours closed, spit-streak.”  
Torres hastily raised a hand to her face, and then scrubbed irritably at her cheek when she felt the mark.  
  
I stretched and yawned loudly, and smiled up at the ceiling when I realized what day it was.  
“Up!” I ordered, throwing myself off the bed.  
Torres remained impassive and unmoved.  
“Get up, Tor. They’re opening the courtyard today, we need sun.”  
Torres pulled her typical ‘reclining horizontally’ model-pose on the bunk. She was beautiful in a kick-ass sort of way – I’d give her at least. She could advertise uncomfortable jail mattresses and second hand toilet paper and people would still flock to her. She caught me contemplating her modeling career though, and slowly raised an eyebrow when I stared for a second too long.  
  
“I have my priorities straight; sunrays before roommates.”  I muttered, trying to cover the sudden awkwardness.   
“Of course.” Torres agreed as I rifled through our wardrobe for a pair of pants.   
After taking far too long to get dressed, I gave Torres up as a lost cause and bade her farewell. “If you’re going to stay inside,” I said as I left the cell, “at least do our laundry, we’re down on pants and I just took the last pair.”  
Torres made no reply, but I swear I could hear her telepathically calling me unspeakable things.   
  
~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~  
  
The blessed silence lasted for four minutes before Loki decided that with Cambell gone, now would be an excellent time to inform the director of his findings. With that in mind, Loki rose and strode purposefully out the cell, before discreetly banging loudly and shouting for Fury on one of the doors at the end of the hall that lead to the off-limit areas. As predicted, agents seemingly swarmed out of the woodwork to tell the unruly prisoner to ‘get the hell away from the door’, before realizing which prisoner it was.  
  
Unfortunately for them, a couple of actual hacking-prisoners had come to gape at the scene, and no amount of prodding from the undercover agent-prisoners about ‘getting into trouble’ would get them to move along. The end result three minutes later was one irate prisoner, ten nervous guards, thirty six rubbernecking inmates, seven undercovers fearful of blowing their covers, and two Avengers. Natasha and Clint had approached from the back of the crowd, and Clint loudly proclaimed that ‘that stupid inmate in the front’ was in some deep shit, before clamping on some handcuffs and half dragging as Natasha half pushed Loki through the door he had previously been wailing on.         
  
“Did you miss me?” Loki asked, mentally shaking off Torres’s visage, and grinning wider when Clint had to adjust his hold to accommodate Loki’s added height.   
“Like a cold.” Natasha deadpanned. She withheld the urge to shout at him for nearly blowing the whole operations cover; she figured Fury would be more than capable of doing it for her. She was not, however, about to lead Loki on a tour of the penitentiary’s layout, so instead she and Clint took him back to his room above the cafeteria.   
The door groaned a bit from its near-month of disuse as Clint swiped his card and pushed it open. “Home sweet home,” He said cheerfully.   
  
The two assassins helped Loki back into his chains and reconnected his ‘leash’ back to the floor by the window.   
“Wait here, please.” Natasha asked politely as the chain once again snapped Loki across the room when the computer realized he’d strayed out of bounds in the presence of guests. “Fury will be with you momentarily.”  
“Of course,” Loki replied equally politely from his stooped position, mimicking a bow as they left the room. _I’m going to split you from stem to sternum and use your blood as ink when I write my condolences._ “I wait with bated breath.”  
  
~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~  
  
“I don’t know why you keep that thing.” Mrs. Smith tittered nervously behind her husband. “It’s doing something…” she trailed off, not quite sure of how to place her vague sense of dread.  
“Illegal?” Mr. Smith offered.  
“Don’t say that!” Mrs. Smith exclaimed, slapping him lightly on the shoulder. “…Maybe it’s just confused.”  
“ _What’s_ confused, dear?” Mr. Smith asked tiredly. He’d spent the whole of last night going through all the blank notepad documents. Somewhere along the line, the little program from the USB stick had given up and shut itself down from its endless loop of updating and ‘tea’. He’d given it a week, but despite his clicking, it only gave him error messages when he tried to start it again.  
“Temperamental little thing; I’m going to take it into work.” He announced.  
“That’s a good idea.” Mrs. Smith agreed, “They’ll figure it out, what our little…” she trailed off again and started sniffling. “Our little…” she blew her nose and steeled herself. “What they were trying to say,” She finished lamely.   
  
“Not really little anymore.” Mister Smith muttered under his breath.   
“What?”   
“Nothing dear.”  
  
~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~  
  
I wasn’t the only one who practically shot outside once the doors unlocked – more than half the penitentiary spilled into the courtyard. The sun, unfortunately, was not big and bright and warm enough to chase away the bite in the wind – a decent jacket wouldn’t hurt either. But I had almost forgotten what unfiltered air smelled like. It smelled, weirdly enough, like smoke and something acidic – but that went away soon enough.   
  
It’s a pity we couldn’t see anything else besides the sky. The five walls of the penitentiary completely surrounded the courtyard, leaving the horizon to the imagination. Wherever we were, it probably wasn’t too south – we were hitting the end of April and it was still snowy and cold. I flopped onto the nearest bench along the wall and relaxed. _This is nice_ , I thought, watching a small group of inmates smack each other with snowballs. The radio I still had jammed in my ear buzzed with static, and I tuned it to better hear what they were saying.   
_…Loki… to the inmates… follow…_ I jerked upright and frantically tapped at my ear – I probably looked psychotic to passersby, but that was the least of my worries. _Loki what?_ I shrieked mentally. _LOKI INMATES WHAT?  
…tential code one.  
WHAT DOES THAT MEAN._  
  
~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~  
  
“They still go by Cambell,” Loki informed Fury an hour later. “I can’t say for certain that they’re the one you’re looking for, but their actions have led me to believe that they _at least_ have inside information on your… ‘operations.’” Loki finished his summary with mental air quotes.   
“So let me get this straight,” Fury said, looking between the whole two pages in Cambell’s folder. “You don’t think the hacker is from the group of five?”   
“It’s unlikely.” Loki said dismissively. “I spent only an hour with them during dinner; they’re all far too brash and arrogant to stay silent for seven years.”  
“They could have tricked you into thinking that.” Natasha quipped.  
Loki made an elegant scoff at Natasha’s remark.   
  
“What, exactly, did Cambell do to make you suspect them?”  
“You’ll notice their lack of any information of substance,” Loki said, nodding towards the folder. “They were enrolled in one of your institutions for ‘higher education’, and made a substantial amount of money as one of those…” Loki frowned and tried to jog his memory, “TI? IT? Whatever it was with your machines - it was more than average I believe. And then they stop, suddenly,” Loki leaned back in his chair, “Seven years ago, to take some menial job as contrary as possible as what they were doing before. At far less pay.”  
“There are at least forty people in here that quit their jobs and downgraded around that tim-”  
“And not a single one of them has tried to oppose you.”  
“Cambell has no records of disorderl-”  
“No,” Loki interrupted again, “because you haven’t seen it.”  
“And you have?” Natasha asked.  
“I’ve seen them make plans.”  
“How so?”  
  
“They’ve befriended an agent – I don’t know which one, but Cambell knew that SHIELD was attacked last week. They also knew which route had the least amount of guards patrolling at a certain time, as they were the last one to be captured on the first day of elimination. They must have connections to the kitchen staff as well, because Agent Malott informed us that Cambell switched food plates at the last second – how odd it is that the guiltiest prisoner here suddenly loses the only undercover agent assigned to them – and that they have no other friends to take Malott’s place.”  
Fury continued to stare down at the folder, as if it would grow sentient under his gaze and admit fault. “That’s…” Fury slid the folder to Natasha, who was making grabby hands from across the table. “That’s a start, but it’s not concrete. I want to put this damn mess to rest, and I want to do it so well that the whole damn world will shut up because it is, without a doubt, this perso-.”   
“It is odd,” Natasha agreed with Loki and interrupting Fury’s speech, “that they would fall off the map the minute the shit hits the fan. All these names and cards that were stolen occurred before the SHIELD hack - this screams ‘I’m trying to lay low.’”  
“I’m more concerned about the possibility of a mole.” Fury muttered. “Someone’s feeding this kid information.”  
“They’re not really a kid…” Natasha corrected, “but I’ll look into the agents.”  
“Good.” Fury said. “Tell the undercovers to keep a second eye on… Cambell? Are they _really_ still going by that name?”  
Loki nodded.  
  
“Well make them like you. Get them to tell you their real name.”   
“Thought we know their real name?” Tony suddenly piped up from the corner of the room.   
“Go back to your tinkering.” Fury dismissed.  
“We do,” Natasha explained. “But thieves only give out real names when they explicitly trust someone. Obviously.” She added under her breath.   
“So I _do_ get to go back paradise?” Loki asked sweetly.   
“For now,” Fury growled. “Concentrate on Cambell. Make ‘em sweat a bit,” he added, rising from his chair. “But _don’t_ come here with any forced confessions.” He added warningly.  
“I would never!” Loki exclaimed and feigned a hurt expression.   
Fury muttered something inaudible, and stopped to stare at Stark on his way out the door. “What are you doing in here?” he asked roughly.  
“Well, long story short, I called Bruce…” Tony paused for dramatic effect.  
“ _And?_ ” Fury growled.   
“Well, the good news is we located and quarantined the malware that hit us last week.”  
“And the bad news is?” Fury asked.  
“It’s not what attacked seven years ago. This one’s weaker. Less complex.”  
“So now you’re telling me there’s two-” Fury cut himself off and held up his hands in surrender as he walked out the room. “Talk to me after I’ve had a drink.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Okay, so, this is a lil’ bit important (for me, anyways). I'd like to know what gender you think Cambell is/should be. Like, male, female, or if I should keep it unknown. It’ll help me with the next few chapters, and it helps me know what’s up and going on in your heads, because I haven’t unlocked my telepathy skills yet. I’m lagging. 
> 
> Also, this chapter’s short, because the next one is going to be a little long, and this was the beginning of that one… So, there’s that. Thank you :)


	12. Chapter 12

“Hey, Cambell.”   
I almost didn’t turn. I was in ‘think’ mode, and it didn’t register that someone was calling me out by a name that wasn’t my name. It was the ‘please don’t’ uttered by a second person that made me glance in the voices general direction. _Then_ it registered that one of the two inmates leaning against the wall was trying to get my attention, because both of them held my gaze way longer than necessary.  
“What?” I asked, simultaneously responding to any name calling they may have done earlier, as well as calling them out on the freaky staring – if they hadn’t called my name, anyways.   
“Your friend just went apeshit.” The shorter of the two informed me, to which the second guy cringed and glanced in the opposite direction. So they had called my name.   
  
“Torres?” I asked, switching into ‘internal panic mode’. I seriously hoped this had nothing to do with the ‘Loki’ incident the radio was talking about. “What do you mean?”  
“Dunno; we saw it on the way out. She just started bangin’ on the doors, an’ no one tried to stop her.”  
The second guy nudged the short ones arm unstealthily, and the short guy just didn’t even care.   
“Did you see anything else?” I asked, already slowly backpedaling to go check on the cell to see if it were true. “Just that? How long ago?”  
“Like, an hour ago? That was it, but, uhhh… wait why? Is something else happening?” Shortie asked. “Hey, wait!”  
_Fuck this shit._   
  
~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~  
  
“Torres?!”  
Loki looked up from his book just in time to see a concerned looking Cambell skid around the corner and into their cell. Cambell looked momentarily thrown before wheezing out ‘what happened?’  
“We needed pants,” Loki said in Torres’s matter-of-factly voice. “And I refuse to do laundry; I only asked for clean sets of clothes. And a knife. They delivered on the first, not so much the second.”  
“A kni… Okay.” Cambell was still breathing heavily, though clearly trying to hide it.  
“Careful,” Loki said, looking back down to his book. “Anything faster than a brisk walk and you’ll rend your heart in two.”  
“Oh hardy-har.” Cambell flopped onto their mattress and sighed. “I ran up two flights of stairs and down God knows how many hallways for you.”  
“You didn’t need to, I was fine.” Loki muttered. “Why the concern, anyways?”  
  
Loki noticed Cambell ignored his question. “Weren’t they mad though?” They asked instead.   
“I suppose. But you’ll never guess what I saw… and heard.” Loki smiled as Cambell’s expression flicked from exhaustion to curiosity to a mask of polite interest in a span of two seconds.   
“What? What’d you hear?”  
“Guess.”   
“You literally just told me I wouldn’t be able to.”  
“I enjoy this game of ours. Humor me.”  
Cambell sighed and rubbed the side of their nose. “Uh, someone’s pregnant?”  
Loki shook his head.  
“SHIELD is going to release us all tomorrow?”  
Another dismissive shake.  
Cambell sighed in annoyance and shrugged. “I dunno man, just tell me.”  
“I’ll give you a hint – it’s about what you asked me for before.”  
  
Cambell frowned up at the ceiling and its many spider webbing cracks before turning their head to frown at Torres instead. “…a security room?” They asked softly, as if they would be able to take the words back if that wasn’t what Loki was referring to.   
Loki gave the best ‘trust me’ grin that he used to give Thor whenever he suggested a plan that could very easily end in both of their deaths – or disownment. It might’ve seemed frightening coming from him, but apparently from Torres it just looked reassuring.   _It’s the damn eyebrows_ , Loki complained, _they’re too high_.   
“That, and…” Loki paused for dramatic effect, “a password to one of the doors.” He said.  
Cambell, to his complete disappointment, seemed utterly disinterested in the news.   
“Torres that’s useless,” they finally answered. “All the doors need a keycard as well, not just a passcode.”   
“Yes, but,” Loki continued, “this particular door leads to the hallway that the security room is located; all we need is a k-”  
“Torres.” Cambell interrupted, holding up a hand. “I’m gonna stop you right there, because there is _no way in hell_ that I’m about to go snooping for a keycar-”  
“We can do it together!” Loki insisted.  
“No.”  
“I-”  
“No Tor!” Cambell near-shouted. “What’s the matter with you? Head down remember? We’ll get out here soon enough.” With that, Cambell rolled over and presented Loki with their back. A stupid move, had he not been under contract not to kill everyone, ever. The turn of events didn’t bother Loki so much though – this was only one attempt made. He had more than enough ways to trap Cambell; one of them was even being instigated as they sat in their cells.   
  
Before he’d returned to his favorite grey hell-hole, he and the red-headed assassin had come up with multiple ways to corner not just Cambell, but any other inmate that may have outside information. The first idea they had was to divide the prison guards up into five groups – since each group of guards only stuck to one arm of the penitentiary. Each guard would be fed a very specific piece of information – and then ordered under threat of job and life to not tell anyone else in the other groups. What they didn’t know was that there were actually five different pieces of information – one for each group of guards. Hopefully, if Cambell had a friend in the guard, they would feel compelled to tell the inmate their secret (and it was a good one – not the kind you can actually keep). All Loki had to do then was get Cambell to tell them what they’d heard, and then they’d know from which group the mole was from. The plan wasn’t fool-proof, which was why they had countless more. It was a start, at least. 

~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~  
  
When I’d first gotten my hands on the button-radio, I thought it’d last me until the next week. Amazingly, it’d been on and running 24/7 for nearly a full month and it still had yet to demand a battery and then die. I was fairly certain that this thing came with its very own kind of battery; I vaguely remember that the radios file was linked with four more – one of which was a battery. I think. I’m not sure… It was seven years ago, give me a break.   
  
Anyways, I don’t think this things ever going to die – or if it is, not anytime soon. Which was just as well because the shit had hit the fan this evening and the whole prison was abuzz. Well, no, the _guards_ were abuzz. We prisoners were sleeping… or pretending to sleep, in Torres’s case. I swear she thinks I’m stupid.    
  
Anyways, every guard had one thing on their mind: drones. I had no idea which channel I was supposed to concentrate on first because for once in my prison life, every station was saying something useful. The cell-guards from hall A were talking about the drone in between each time they ‘cleared’ a section of cells. Apparently Stark had invented one earlier this year that could turn invisible – and they were now installing one in each of our rooms _. I bet this has something to do with the Loki thing… omygod._ My eyes widened in the dark of the cell. _What if Loki’s in here and they’re trying to find him with the drone? What if he’s disguised as a guard or something… OR HE’S INVISIBLE TOO?!  
  
_ B-guards were talking about the drones as well – though they were (understandably) more concerned about the fact that the drones would have tiny guns attached to them – loaded with bullets _and_ sedatives. C-guards didn’t like the fact that the drones had x-ray vision that could take pictures of you naked. One of the C-guards pointed out that their armor could probably block parts of the drone’s vision – though another guard wondered about the health risks of ‘all those x-rays buzzing around and shit’. I had to agree with the second guard – that seemed unethical and unhealthy (both of which were director Fury’s middle name).   
  
The guards in the upper and lower levels of the cafeteria were not looking forward to the fact that Fury had explicitly stated that these drones would be replacing every one of them at the end of next month. It made sense to me – invisible x-ray drones with tiny guns (that were probably invincible if Stark made them) were a thousand times better than any guard in here. What was truly alarming, however, was that according to those in the gym and laundry wing, the new drones would start being introduced to our _cells_ by the end of this week – just three days away.   
  
_This is not good_. The drones would see that I had a radio. I wouldn’t even see the drones – hell, I could be shot dead before I even knew there was one in my general vicinity. _Or… maybe…_ It was possible that I missed some information. Earlier today there was something about a code one and Loki. _I bet this has something to do with him. It_ has _to have something to do with him._ Maybe the drones were supposed to be finding him, and the fact that they could be used to spy on us was just an enjoyable side benefit. _But then why replace the guards… OH!_ Because Loki could kill the guards! _OF COURSE! Wait… shit,_ _but, he could kill us too! …Oh for fucksakes_ , I chided myself, _you’re a criminal, Fury doesn’t care if_ you _die._   
  
I twisted the hem of my blanket between my thumb and forefinger. _This is such shit news. This is such terrible, shitty, awful fucking news._ I glanced over to Torres, who dramatically faked a sleep-sigh. She had her back to me, and was facing the wall; I could juuuuust see the outline of her figure thanks to the green exit light in the hallway. _I wish I hadn’t turned this radio on_ , I whined mentally. That way I could remain blissfully ignorant and pretend to sleep like Torres and only have to worry about what’s for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.     
  
Seeing her there on the bed though, all fuzzy-blanketed up and ignorant of the impending shitstorm that was about to rattle the windowpanes and blow down the front door made my heart wrench. _I’ve got to tell her about Loki_. I had to tell her about that at the very least; she – all of us – were in danger. Fury wasn’t going to tell us about Loki because he didn’t want us to panic and riot – but there was no way in hell I was keeping something like this to myself. Besides, I had a track record of collecting and giving away his dangerous secrets. Why stop now.   
  
~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~  
  
“I did it!”  
Mister Smith poked his head around the corner of the den. “Did what?” he asked.  
“It worked, I did it,” Mrs. Smith proudly announced.  
Mister Smith stood awkwardly behind the office chair his wife sat on and surveyed her handiwork. “How’d you get it to run?” he asked, slowly stirring the batter in the large bowl he held.  
Mrs. Smith twisted and tapped the wooden spoon in his hand. “Faster dear – whipped, not stirred.”  
Mister Smith sighed and wiggled the spoon dramatically. “How’d you make it start?” He repeated.  
“Oh it was easy,” Misses Smith said with a grin. “There was a restart… button.”  
“There was?” Mister Smith asked.  
“Well it swore at me first, but yes.” Misses Smith said as she traveled through the tabs on top of the program. “It was under settings.”  
  
Mister Smith shook his head. “I’m still taking that thing in. Just not this week – finals are coming up.” He turned to walk out the door. “IT always has problems in finals week,” he explained. “Kids suddenly lose the ability to upload documents and convert files all – inexplicably – at eleven fifty five pm.” He said. “The best ones,” he said, popping his head back into the room. “Set you up for disappointment the day before. I got three emails about buggy computers this morning, and one about a sick grandma.”  
Misses Smith gave him a sympathetic smile.   
“It’s insane.” He finished.  
“I know.” She said, turning back to the computer.  
  
“Don’t…” Mister Smith paused his stirring again. “Don’t mess with it too much,” he asked. “Just let it do its thing.”  
“Why?” Misses Smith asked, frowning at the many pictures of the director-of-SHIELD-in-a-tutu.  
“It might… change.” Mister Smith said vaguely. “The last thing it said before it stopped working for me was that it was ‘ineffective against current security standards’. I don’t know what it’s doing, but I don’t think anything beneficial ever came from fighting security standards.”  
“Our own?” Misses Smith asked, looking for the antivirus shortcut that usually sat on the desktop. “But ours has been uninstalled.”  
“Well that’s why I don’t like that Dontopen thing.” He said, “Because we don’t have any security for it to fight.”  
Misses Smith made an ‘ooooh’ sound and tapped the small ‘x’ on the screen. “Ah.” She said awkwardly. “I keep forgetting this isn’t a touchscreen.”  
Mister Smith sighed and walked back to the kitchen. “Just put that on hold for now,” he called. “We have to finish up here before everyone arrives.”  
  
~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~

My original plan of telling Torres about Loki the moment I woke up failed – because I forgot. I got distracted somewhere between waking up and her shuffling around to go shower. She came back thirty minutes later to kick the foot of my bed to wake me up _again_ and inform me that we were about to be late for breakfast. It was after we went our separate way for free time (a new one for us – we used to be inseparable) that I remembered. Nowadays she tended to wander around aimlessly or bother the librarian (we literally only had three shelves of books - and no one cared for them). In fact, the librarian was also one of the meal servers – who was also one of the guards for the cafeteria during the nightshift. I swear; they must have barracks here or something because these guys never seem to leave.  

  
The point is, I only remembered once I’d settled into my designated bench out in the courtyard. Today was finally warm… well. It was warm if you sat directly in sunlight and behind a wall that could block the wind. I didn’t have a wall, but one of the supports on the outside walls jutted out just enough to do the trick. Either way, I wasn’t about to move to go tell her. _Or maybe she’s being shanked right now._ I froze in a half-reclining position before mentally shaking off that thought and leaning back down. _Torres is unshankable_.  
_But Loki.  
Oh for fuckssssaaaaaakkkeeeesssss_.  
I heaved myself back up and sighed. _At least I got a good thirty minutes in._  
  
Despite the fact that the penitentiary only have five main wings, the place was an absolute nightmare to get through. It wasn’t so much that the inmates took up too much room; most stayed in their cells or milled about the cafeteria and courtyard.  It was the guards. Forget the drones having x-ray vision, these people looked at you like they were searching for your soul – and were having trouble finding it. I was half expecting one to suddenly push off the wall to grab me and peer down my throat to see if there was something down there. Maybe they could use their infrared stuff. _Does infrared make your throat light up? Wait, no, they’d have to turn the lights off first. WHERE THE FUCK IS TORRES I DON’T HAVE TIME FOR THIS.  
_ “Hey,” I said, stopping a passing inmate a moment later. “Have you seen my friend? Goes by Torres, taller than fucking life, blonde hair, brown eyes, looks like she want to-”  
“Murder someone?” They finished for me.  
“That’s the one.”  
The inmate shook their head sadly. “Nah, sorry, haven’t seen ‘em.”  
I sighed and waved them goodbye. “Aight, thanks.” _  
  
That was phenomenally useless_. I did a mental checklist of everywhere I’d already been; she wasn’t chilling near the ‘library’, and I didn’t even bother checking the gym because she’d long given up on that place. Our cell was empty, as were our wing bathrooms _. Is she seriously going to make me look through_ all _the bathrooms? … I could just wait until lunch…_  
“Cambell?”  
I jerked around at the sound of Torres’s voice and sighed in relief. “You! I was looking for you!” I chided.  
“So I’ve been told,” Torres said, looking me up and down. “What’s so important that you feel the need to run around the grounds for me?”  
“Who told you I was looking? It’s-” I quietened and sidelong glanced to the left at the guard just behind me. “…Nothing. I just wanted to know if you wanted to play cards.”  
Torres cocked an eyebrow and nodded.

“Fantastic. Let’s go.”  
“I hope you brought the cards.” She said loudly.  
_OhmygodTorresshutup._ “They’re in the cell.” I said, matching her loudness.  
  
As we walked back to our wing, I went over how exactly I was supposed to tell her that a homicidal evasive megalomaniac was running amok in the penitentiary. I also couldn’t figure out how to tell her this without revealing _how_ I know. _Also what the hell do I say about the drones? Do I even mention them, or would that just push her over the edge more? No… she doesn’t like it when we act out; remember how she got all weird after you even mentioned the security room?_ But… there was something different about Torres now – she was angrier and _way_ more confrontational. _I mean,_ she _was the one who brought up the security room last night…_ and _she suggested finding a goddamn keycard. No, I don’t think she’ll care how I got my information.  
  
_ “Are you well, Cambell?” Torres spoke up from behind me. “I can practically hear those gears spinning out of control.”  
“Cell,” I answered, not rising to the bait. It really didn’t bother me much anymore – I think this is her natural state, and the niceness I got in the beginning was just her outer layer _. Maybe she trusts me now._ _Makes sense_ , I thought. _She became an asshole around the same time she started telling me about herself._

“Okay.” I muttered as we entered our cell. The door didn’t close during the day, so I motioned for her to sit on a bunkbed while I leaned against the doorframe to make sure no one was within earshot.   
“What’s all this about?” She asked. “I thought we were playing cards.”  
“Cut the shit, Torres.” I whispered tautly. “This is serious.”  
Torres slowly straightened and gave me a concerned frown. “Oh… what’s wrong? You look…”  
  
She trailed off and I stared down at the end of the hall a second longer before giving her my attention. “You have to promise not to freak out, okay?”  
Torres nodded quickly, looking moderately uneasy.   
I sighed and decided that being blunt was the best approach. “I think Loki is in the penitentiary proper, and I’m pretty sure he’s disguised as an inmate.”  
Torres’s face went blank.  
“Don’t freak out.”  
“What do you mean?” She asked, voice suddenly dropping an octave.  
“I mean,” I peeked nervously up and down the hall again. “…I think he’s hiding.” I finished, turning back to her. “And I think Fury is using drones or something to find him.”  
Torres cocked her head and I saw a flicker of a frown flit across her features for a second.   
“Drones?” She asked.  
  
“Yeah, Fury’s got these… invisible x-ray gun toting drones that’re supposed to be slowly replacing the guards coming up this Friday.”  
Torres, bless her, was not freaking out… unless her freaking out face was blank – in which case she was in an absolute tizzy.   
“Cambell how do you know this?” she finally asked.

“Don’t worry about it.”  
“Cambell!” She snapped. “How. Do. You. Know?”  
_Tell her. Just tell her about the radio... or don’t._ I searched her face for the answer to my internal war, but I couldn’t get myself to form the words ‘I have a radio’. “I just heard it from the guards.” I muttered, glancing back to the hall.  
“You’re lying. Don’t lie to me.”  
“I’m not lying!” I insisted and scowled at her. “I heard it from them.”  
“And you just asked, I suppose?” she quipped.  
“No. I…” I scratched nervously at the back of my jaw. “I just listen…”  
  
Torres was obviously trying to put two and two together, but I was not about to help her.  
“ _When_ did you hear all this?” She asked.   
“When you left; I also just… walked around.”  
Torres didn’t buy it, that much was obvious. Hell, _I_ wouldn’t’ve bought it if someone tried to sell me this story.   
“Listen,” I tried to placate her, “it doesn’t matter how I know, just know that I know.”  
Torres shook her head no and got up from her bunk. “No,” she said, crowding into my personal space. _Fuck she really is tall_ ; I cringed slightly and looked up to her. _I’m not short, but fuuuuucking heeeeeeell-_

“I want you to tell me where you’re getting this information from.” She growled near my ear. With her arm above my head and the fact that her face was just about six inches from mine, I was very nearly about to spill my guts out to her. _Why wasn’t she put away for murder before this_ I wailed. Unfortunately, my self-preservation instincts took over instead and I shoved her away from me. I must’ve caught her at a good time (for me) because she stumbled backwards easily enough, and nearly plopped back onto her bunk.  
  
“Fuck you.” I snarled, taking a small step forward. “I’m trying to help and you’re acting like a fucking dick.”   
“You’re awfully well connected for an inmate.” She murmured, advancing on me as well.  
_Oh shit,_ I suddenly realized. _She thinks I’m an agent or something! Tell her to chill!_ “We’ll you’re really fucking _unconnected_ for someone who’s supposedly lived their lives stealing information.” _Not chill, not chill!_  
Torres looked murderous, though I think it’s safe to say that I must’ve too.  “Talk like that’ll get you into trouble.” She said.   
“Oh, what are they going to do Torres? Throw me into jail? You think we have a fucking chance of getting out?” I snapped, and noticed how close I was to either crying or stepping up and breaking her neck. _Chill please_. “We’re fucked two ways from Sunday, and all I’m trying to do is make life a little less hectic for us.”  
“All I want to know is who’s helping you.”  
“NO-THE-FUCK-ONE! I’ve been doing shit alone from day one! You think I fucking need your help – anyone’s help!?” I shouted at her, taking the last few remaining steps between us. “All I’m doing is trying to warn you, and you’re being a fucking ass about it.”   
“I’m not an ass-”  
“You’re a giant fucking ass and I don’t need-”  
  
Torres put a hand between us, and on impulse I grabbed it, stepped on her foot and shoved – hard. Naturally, we toppled because I forgot the crucial part about subsequently letting go of her hand once I had shoved. It probably wouldn’t have mattered anyways because she grabbed the front of my shirt and dragged me down with her. I came to a second later with her bent over my head and muttering about head wounds bleeding more than most.   
“You fuck-” I snarled, pushing upwards.  
“Silence!” She hissed, pushing back down and smothering me with the blanket she was using to wipe up my blood. “You just knocked it on the edge of supports.” She consoled, hastily motioning to the bed above me.  
“ _I_ knocked it?!”  
“We cannot let anyone see this.”  
I batted at her hands and rolled away from her and stood up. I had an odd sense of vertigo for a second, but it passed as quickly as it came. “This is your fault.” I snapped.  
“You pushed me,” she snarled in equal measure, wiping the floor with her blanketed foot. “Listen; if anyone sees this, we’re both in trouble.” She said.   
  
“No, _you’re_ in trouble.” I corrected, gently touching the large bump on the right of my forehead. The sudden trickle from that small amount of pressure informed me that I was moderately not okay. “I’m the one with the fucking head injury.”  
“If you call the guards,” she hissed, “I’ll tell them about that radio you’ve got wedged in your ear.”  
I stilled my subpar medical ministrations and internally panicked as I listened to her continue wiping the floor.   
“You be quiet, and I will too.” She muttered a moment later.  
_Well fuck me_. I raised a hand back to my forehead and leaned against the doorframe again, taking up watch. _Fuck me, because I am fucked._   
For a while all I heard was the gently scritch and swipe of the blanket being pulled across the floor. Head wounds really must bleed more heavily than most, because it looks like someone just dropped an entire can of red paint at the foot of Torres’s bed _. Serves her fucking right - banging my head on her bed; what was she thinking?_  
  
“Are you trying to anger me?” I heard a moment later.  
“What now?” I growled, turning towards her.   
“I told you to keep a low profile, and you’re standing in the doorway with your face covered in blood!”  
“I’m making sure no one’s coming!” I quietly hissed.  
“You’re practically a beacon! Get away from the door!”  
I huffed and threw my hands in the air. “Fine,” I said, flopping onto my bunk. Torres glared at me and went back to wiping the floor.  
“You missed a-”  
“Don’t.” She deadpanned.

  
I didn’t offer to help, but she seemed more than happy cleaning up by herself – not that I would’ve helped if she asked. She was not pleased five minutes later though; when there were no more bloody floors, but an overabundance of bloody blankets instead.   
“We must dispose of these.” She said.  
“That’s the understatement of the century.” I muttered into the palm of my hand. I had a major headache, and every word out of her mouth grated on my nerves. “So go get rid of them.”  
“No,” She said. “Lunch starts soon, and we have to deal with that cut on your head. You can sneak them into the wash after lunch.”  
“Me?” I asked incredulously. “You mean you, right?”  
“I don’t know how to work the washers,” she said indifferently. “Besides I cleaned the floor.”  
“You knocked my head!” I reminded her.  
“You pushed me.”   
“Because you were about to push me!” I said, exasperated with her and the entire situation.   
“I was not,” Torres said, reaching into the hem of her pants. “I was about to show you this.”  
  
I saw the keycard flash before my eyes for what seemed like milliseconds before it was tucked neatly back into the lining of her pants.  
“Torres-” I whispered breathlessly.  
“But,” she said with a shrug, “You don’t need it, right?” She asked. “You don’t need _me_.”  
I wanted to kick myself. And the small tug on one corner of her mouth told me that she knew it, too.   
“Let’s fix your head.” She said. “And see about the rest later.”

I sighed and let her steer me to the open door of the wardrobe. She scrubbed, not too gently, at the side of my face before observing her handiwork.   
“You look awful,” she complained, before tugging a few longer strands of my hair over the right side of my face. “Just keep it like that until we reach the bathroom, and we’ll deal with it there.” She instructed. “Now change your shirt, you’ve got blood on the collar.”  
“Why do I get the feeling you’ve had this conversation before?” I asked as I turned around and looked for a fresh shirt. True to her word, it seemed that Torres stunt with door-banging had gotten her a lot of clean pairs of clothes. Well, it’d gotten both of us clean pairs because we had the same size. There were only two sizes here – small and large. No varying lengths, because in here everyone was apparently seven feet tall.

 

I turned to her a moment later and found her looking me up and down nervously.   
“…What?” I asked, hand automatically going back up to my head.   
“Nothing, nothing, don’t touch it…” she frowned again and glared down at our shoes.   
“mnphnnam’s Torres.”  
“I’m sorry, what?” I asked, leaning in.  
“My name.” She said, head still bowed. “My name’s Juliana. Torres.” She looked back up (down) to me in the eye. “My name is Juliana Torres, and I’m sorry about your head.”  
I felt a lump lodge in my throat as I tried to choke out my own name.  
“Cambell.” I finally muttered, unable to look her in the eye.  She didn’t say anything, but I knew she was disappointed. And probably knew that I was lying, too. We stood there for a heartbeat, I looking down at her feet, and she at the back of my head. I saw her legs shift and retreat from my vision, and I watched her shoes pass through the door.  
“You coming, Cambell?” She asked, pausing.   
I glanced up from my head-hanging position and frowned quizzically.   
“Your face is still a mess.”  
I nodded and followed behind her, mindful of keeping my head down and hair positioned just-so.   


When we reached the entrance to the nearest single-bathroom, I paused while Torres opened the door to glance inside and make sure no one was in there.   
“Fine.” she said, moving behind the door and holding it open for me. “Be quick.” She muttered, and closed it again once I was inside. The shadows under the door indicated that she stood guard outside, making sure that no one else tried to get in. The only problem with the single-bathroom was that it was _definitely_ monitored. There was a very obvious camera above the door, which was why no one ever used the single bathrooms. Except, generally, when the prison food didn’t sit well and you couldn’t tell if you wanted to hurl or… you get the point. You trade one sense of security for another. If I _was_ being watched, though, I doubted they’d care too much that I was just wiping my face – Torres had gotten rid of most of the red.   
  
I got busy pulling a few sheets of toilet paper (because of course the hand towels were nonexistent) and ran it under the water before pulling up my hair to examine the damage. The wound wasn’t too deep – but it was split wide, almost like it got caught on the bed first before tearing loose. The blood was already caked around the edges, and I was loath to wipe it away and make it bleed again. I settled with dabbing the light pink steaks off my face and neck, and rinsing the wound as best as possible. It wasn’t until I had my head underneath the faucet that I remembered not to get the radio wet – and realized that it wasn’t in my ear at all.   
_Torres!_ _That fucking bitch!  
_ I jerked out from under the water, hastily dried my face and swiped my hair back in place.   
  
“Torres,” I snarled and banged open the door into her back.   
“Here.” She huffed from behind the door, simultaneously holding out her hand and giving me the ‘oh please’ look.  
I sniffed indignantly and snatched the radio from her hand, and slid it into my pants pocket. “Guards could’ve seen that,” I whined quietly.  
Torres snorted and rolled her eyes. “We need to get to lunch before they lock the gates.” She informed me as she pushed off the wall in the direction of the cafeteria.   
“Yeah,” I agreed halfheartedly and followed after her. We were reaching one of the cafeteria entrances and the point where the conversations turned unnecessarily loud when I finally got the balls to blurt-  
“Smith.”  
  
Torres turned to me with her signature half-cocked eyebrow.  
“M’last names Smith.” I mumbled, glaring at the plastic tray that I had just picked up and was hoping would spontaneously combust.   
Half balls. I couldn’t get out my first name.    
Torres took it in stride though, and nodded thoughtfully. “Smith… but you prefer…?”  
“I prefer Cambell.” I insisted.   
“Any reason?” She asked.  
“Yeah.”  
She glanced back down to me, but also graciously accepted that I wasn’t about to explain that either. She was better at this than I was. She gave out a full name, and all I gave her was a last. _She’s a decent friend I guess... apart from the head banging._ “So…” I began as the lunch-people dumped random mixed fruits into one of the trays compartments. “Are you still Torres, or Juliana?”  
Torres flicked a piece of fruit that had dropped onto her thumb back of the servers. It hit one of them square between the eyes.  
“I’m Torres.” She said sternly.   
The server didn’t bother arguing.


	13. Chapter 13

“We need a new computer.”  
Mister Smith hurriedly shoveled some more corn flakes into his mouth and ignored the milk dribbles running into his short beard. He’d managed to splatter some milk across the bottom of the page he was skimming as well, and simply nodded and hummed ‘mmhmm’ at the sound of his wife’s voice.  
“I was thinking something faster than what we had last – you know how Bethany likes playing those games on the thing.”  
“Mmhmm, that’s an idea.”  
“Speaking of Bethany,” Mrs. Smith continued, “I was thinking we invite the grandkids over this weekend. Bethany and Luke are much bigger now – if the school pictures are anything to go by.”  
“Mmhmm, bigger.”  
Mrs. Smith twisted the dishrag in her hands out in the sink. “I’m sure Michael would be glad to be free of them for a few hours. He and Laura can spend some quality time together.”  
“Mmhmm; quality time.” Mister Smith flipped the page over and a stray corn flake attached itself to his tie.  
“And we can take Eppie’s kids as well – she’s very busy with her restaurant you know. You never talk to your children anymore.”  
“Mmhmm, okay.”  
  
Mrs. Smith quietened and gazed out of the window behind the sink that overlooked the back of the garden. It’d been very rainy these last few weeks, so the grass looked almost comically green... and it was long; Mister Smith refused to hire a gardener because he claimed gardening was therapeutic and he’d rather do it himself. His job at the university did not allow him any time for therapy during finals week though, so the garden was overgrown and quite jungle-like.  
“The tire swing needs tightening.” She said.  
“Mmhmm.”  
“I don’t think you’re listening to me.”  
“Mmm.”  
Mrs. Smith sighed dramatically and dropped the dishrag over the side of the sink. “I’m going to get upset at you for this later, when you aren’t so busy.”  
“Mmhmm, alright.”  
“But we really do need a new computer.”  
  
~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~  
  
Every parent seems to have that one embarrassing story about you that they like to tell absolute strangers of. Mine is the infamous ‘dresser incident’. When I was about four or five, my older brother told me that grandma had hidden grandpa’s body in her dresser, and that’s why he didn’t have a grave. Grandpa obviously had a grave but for an entire year I was convinced that gran had a trussed up body in her room – and I refused to go near it. Whenever she spoke to me, I would yell at her for ‘telling lies at me’, and I never explained to anyone why I hated her so much. It all culminated to the dresser incident a year later, when I tore apart her closet and found a box of old bones. While the adults were busy talking, I stole the box away and put it in my backpack to take home and confront grandma with later on.   
  
Anyways, dad was putting away the clean laundry one day when he finds this shoebox filled with dog treats, and thinks ‘oh, here’s the dog treats I was looking for earlier.’ I came home from school to see grandpa being fed to the dog, the dog proceeding to puke its guts out, and my grandma explaining loudly over the phone to her son that we need to get the mutt to the vet because her premium pot cookies are missing. It was one of those defining moments in your childhood memory where you can go back and pinpoint exactly where something in your personality or psyche changed. When you grew up just a little bit, or figured something out.   
  
The moral of the story is that sometimes reality is a pot cookie, and even seemingly decent people can trick you.     
  
~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~  
  
“Grandpa, I don’t _like_ squash.”  
Mister Smith sighed as his four-year-old grandson pulled his nose up at the cinnamon covered substance on his plate.   
“I don’t either, bud,” Mister Smith said as diplomatically as possible. “But I get this really cool beard whenever I eat it.”  
Luke look skeptically at the dark grey, black, and white speckled beard that grew on his grandfather’s face.  
“Will mine be prettier?”  
Mister Smith sighed for the umpteenth time and mentally chided himself for feeling inadequate at his grandson’s choice of wording. What would a four-year-old even know about beards? Mrs. Smith liked his beard; she said it made him look intellectual. He had a 3.4 hotness rating on one of the professor rating websites – that was decent for a sixty two year old man. Luke knew shit all about beards – he probably couldn’t even spell ‘facial hair’.   
“No Luke.” Mister Smith said solemnly after much consideration. “This is the pinnacle of beard-dom. Now eat your squash.”  
“But I don’t _like_ it.”  
“I don’t care.”  
  
“Grandpa.”  
Mister Smith twisted in his chair to face his granddaughter. “Yes dear?” he asked, taking in her perplexed expression.  
“Why wont the computer turn on?”  
“Bethy didn’t eat the squash,” Luke whined from behind them.   
“I’m afraid it’s broken.”  
Bethany’s face turned placid and she gave Mister Smith her best ‘grandpa, really?’ look. “I’ll check it out for you.” She said with finality, and walked back out of the dining room.  
“Lord have mercy,” he said tiredly, rubbing his eyes. Between the four-year-old in the chair and the twelve year old fiddling with the computer… wait, weren’t there others in this house too?  
“Bless this goddamn mess!” Luke shouted happily besides him, smacking the squash with his spoon.  
“Luke!” Mister Smith chided – he was going to have a serious talk later on with his son about his choice of words around his kids. He’d caught Bethany saying ‘damn buckets’ earlier.  
“Sorry grandpa.”   
  
~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~  
  
Torres was looking for me. She had been for the entire afternoon and I’d done my best to avoid her – but it was becoming increasingly impossible. Not because she was catching up to me but because we were both about to be forced into our cells together for bedtime anyways. She probably thought the same as well, which could be why she stopped looking for me. But still I hid. It wasn’t even a creative spot; I was behind the stack of mats in the gym. It was a nice place because the sun streamed in from the widows way up high, and it made me feel like a cat in sunlight. Because cats have no concept of incarceration and criminality and I was okay with that.   
  
Speaking of criminality, I have officially come to terms with the fact that I did something horribly illegal and probably do deserve to be here. I remember that Stark industries suffered terribly when I leaked the documents because at least half of the stuff there were Mr. Starks prototypes. The other quarter were classified SHIELD reports probably endangered a couple lives, and the rest were technical documents that not even I understood. Engineering stuff. Looked heavy. To give myself some credit, I didn’t hack out of spite or with the intention of doing any kind of harm. I was nosy and didn’t think I’d fuck up. I didn’t plan on doing anything with the stuff… okay maybe I’d sell some. But I didn’t hack with a sales venture in mind – I was curious and SHIELD was just… there.   
  
I’m an asshole. A nice asshole. But an asshole nonetheless. It’s funny though, I watched a couple of prison documentaries when I was bored, and they always said that you come out worse than you go in. But all I’ve done is introspection and reached the conclusion that I’m not a very good citizen. Sure I’ve got my fanclub – back during those seven years when SHIELD searched for me there were tons of ‘free hackie’ rallies and people who voiced support for the hacker. For me. Naturally, I was flattered. But I don’t think I did a good thing. If I had believed in what I’d done, I wouldn’t have bothered throwing the papers to the wind and hiding. Or maybe I would have – who knows.   
  
But I’m avoiding SHIELD. And I’m avoiding Torres. And I’m avoiding my punishment, and deep down I’m okay with someone else taking the fall for me so that I can go free. And I think that makes me an asshole. I’m just tired of all this… thisness.   
A tennis ball suddenly flew above my head and bounced back from the wall opposite me – and into my lap.  
“My bad.” Someone called from behind me.   
I turned and tossed the fuzzy neon ball back the guy making his way over to me. We didn’t have racquets – they could be used as weapons – but people still used the balls to play catch and stuff. This small group was using two lunch trays pilfered from the cafeteria as makeshift tennis racquets. They wouldn’t last until the morning – SHIELD cracked down hard on makeshift anythings, and there was no way in hell the cameras didn’t see these clowns. Oh well. Fun while it lasts I guess.   
“Cambell.”  
_Fuck_.  
  
Torres abruptly vaulted over the stack of mats and dropped down beside me, then took a moment to stretch out her long legs in front of her. _Where the hell did she come from?_ I nodded a terse greeting, and we stared as companionably as possible at the wall ahead of us for a while.   
“You’re avoiding me.” Torres said, after a few moments.  
“Yeah.”  
“Is it because of this morning?”  
“It’s because of a lot of things.”  
“Conscience getting heavy?”  
I sighed at stared placidly at a brick in the wall. “Sure.”  
Torres drew her knees up, and fiddled with her cuticles. “I’m tired of this place too. I understand your need for space in this cramped environment.”  
Thank God I held in that sniffle. Honestly the amount of times I swing from wanting to strangle Torres to hugging her is insane.   
“Thanks.” I said stupidly instead. My voice cracked a little at the end, but we all ignored it. Torres raised her hand and for a second I thought she was asking for a high-five, but she ended up patting me awkwardly on the knee instead.   
“I know I’m not very… approachable,” she said, “but if it gets to be too much, you might find I’m slightly more personable than a brick wall.”  
I couldn’t help but snort at her attempt at self-deprecating humor – as well as the absolute absurdity of the whole situation. But I appreciated it nonetheless, and gave her an equally awkward pat on the knee as well.   
“Thanks chump,” I muttered, trying to diffuse the tension in the air.   
“Don’t you ever touch me again.”  
I laughed and purposefully put a hand on her bony shoulder and pushed myself upright. “Wanna go play cards?”  
  
~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~  
  
Fury stared at the single sheet document in front of him, and steepled his fingers in thought. He was accustomed to following his gut feeling or intuition in tense situations like these, but now he felt nothing. He glowered at the bright red name at the top of the page that Natasha had handed him a few days prior. They knew next to nothing about Cambell because their information was erased from the government systems – birth record, addresses, schools, doctor and dental records had all been wiped eight years ago during the original attack. They weren’t the only one with wiped records though; nearly every inmate here had tampered records or records that’d been outright deleted like Cambell’s had. It’d been mass mayhem – half of the US had their records wiped during that attack. Fury sometimes wondered if the hacker, or hackers, knew just how big of a shitstorm they’d caused.   
  
He sighed tiredly and ran a hand down his face. _I’m going to kill whoever did this_.   
There was a quick knock on the door before it suddenly swung open. “Mein führer…y. Mein Fury,” Tony said as a greeting while letting himself into the room.  
“You’re supposed to wait for me to say ‘come in’ after you knock.”  
“Got you some good news,” Tony said, ignoring the jab and dropping a thick manila folder in front of the director.  
“Someone confessed?” The director asked, hopefully.   
“Nah - we might have maybe a little bit located the computer that the most recent attack came from.”  
“Shit,” Fury said under his breath, suddenly alert. “This is it?” He asked, flipping through the first few pages in the folder.  
“No,” Tony said, “that’s my new contract and demands for a pay raise given the amount of resources I’m spending on you guys.”  
Fury looked between Stark and the folder before handing it back to him. “What’d you find?”  
Tony pouted and took back his file. “Does ‘Norwell, Massachusets’ mean anything to you?”  
“No.”  
“Well that’s where it came from.”  
“Specifically…?”  
“East Norwell?”  
Fury groaned and rubbed his good eye with the heel of his palm.  
“Well,” he said, “that’s better than before. I’ll get some agents in that area.”  
  
“Banner says eastern Norwell is mostly residential and… shopping center-y.” Tony said. “So it could’ve originated from someone’s home. Or work.”  
“Even better.” Fury said, standing up from his chair. “It’s a lead. Good job.”  
“Yeah but what about my…” Tony shook the thick folder.  
Fury stared at it before shrugging dismissively. “Give it to financing.”  
“Financing told me to find a ledge and jump off it.”  
“Then get to it.”  
  
~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~  
  
Cambell didn’t seem to have any tells, they were a decent poker player – Loki’d give them that.   
“How’re your cards?” He asked conversationally.  
“How’re yours?”  
Loki scoffed and added a straw and a bottle cap to the pot. “That’s your best?” he asked. “Parroting my words back to me?”  
“Yeah, but I know your cards are shit so I think I’m alright.”  
Loki smiled at his bunkmate and looked back down at his cards. They weren’t bad at all. Either Cambell was overconfident in their ability to read tells, or were just pulling nonsense out of thin air. _What a wonderfully confused person._ Either way the betting rounds were over, and when both he and Cambell threw down their hands, Cambell _did_ hold the stronger hand.   
  
Loki sniffed dismissively. “So you win. You were wrong though, my cards weren’t bad at all.”  
“They were shit,” Cambell said as they shuffled the cards back and forth. “Shit compared to mine anyways. Shitiness is an arbitrary thing, you know.”  
Loki frowned at the hands that carefully pulled the cards back and forth before wedging the two halves together. “How were you so sure then?”   
“I stacked the deck.”  
“You what.”  
“I stacked the deck while your back was turned.”  
Loki leaned back against the wardrobe he was propped up against and took in his cellmate. “I never turned my back on you.” He said, mentally going over the steps from when Cambell pulled the cards out from under their mattress, to when they simply sat cross-legged on the floor and started shuffling.   
“I stacked it after our last game already.”  
Loki snorted and accepted his cards – this time the deck was definitely shuffled. “So am I to assume that we can cheat whenever we please?”  
“You mean you haven’t been cheating?” Cambell asked, dealing the cards between the two of them. “I’ve got half a royal flush up my sleeve.”   
“Truly?”  
Cambell held the deck in the opposite hand as they pulled one arm into the shirts sleeve and shook the fabric. Loki watched as an ace, king, and jack fluttered out.   
“You’re incorrigible.”    
“Small words, Torres,” Cambell chided their bunkmate while putting the three cards back into the deck.   
“I’m going to cheat you out of your winnings.”  
Cambell laughed. “Oh man, for a second I thought you were going to say you weren’t gonna play with me anymore.”  
  
~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~  
  
“I think I’ve got a plan.” Natasha said, once the director, all of the avengers, and the handful of agents were settled.   
Fury tapped the table with his pen and crunched a few numbers on the page in front of him. “For what? We’re juggling a couple operations right now.”  
“For Cambell. And this Norwell place, possibly.”  
“Let’s hear it.” The director said, twirling his pen between his fingers on one hand.   
“We’re obviously not going to get anything other than forced confessions in this place.” Natasha said, raising an eyebrow and looking about the room. “I say we shock them.”  
Tony slammed a fist on the table and pulled out a barcode shock bracelet similar to the one Loki had on. “That’s what I’ve been saying this whole time.” He said gleefully.   
“Not like that,” Natasha said, expression placid despite the fact that a few other Avengers were scowling in Stark’s general direction. “I think we should let them go. Just Cambell... and a couple undercovers already in the facility so it doesn’t look like we’re singling them out. We can watch them, and see what happens from there.”  
  
Fury tapped the pen he held into the palm of his other hand. “And if nothing happens?” he asked. “Cambell could slip back into their old routine and we’ll never know if they’re guilty or not.”  
“And if they suddenly pop up in Eastern Norwell?” Natasha asked.  
“That proves nothing; they could be two unrelated entities.”  
“And if we give them a golden opportunity or reason to attack us again?”  
“The press will call that a setup when we take them to court.”  
“You can lead a horse to water, but it’ll be their choice to drink.” Natasha said. Fury, for some reason, somehow knew she’d say something like that.  
“Stark can put up defenses ahead of time because he’ll know that we could be attacked.” She continued.   
“This is an awful plan.” Tony remarked.  
“I agree.” Bruce said, idly flicking through the – now two whole pages – of Cambell’s file. “There’s always the probability that Cambell could still circumnavigate our defenses. It would be unwise to underestimate their abilities; especially given the amount of damage they did in the past… assuming it _was_ them.”  
“Um,” Tony said, squinting at the doctor facing him, “excuse me, but Jarvis is un-circumnavigatable.”   
  
Bruce ignored the stink eye from across the table and scratched the back of his neck. “Besides, what do we do with Loki? He’s been tailing Cambell for over a month now.”  
Fury leaned back in his chair and examined the ceiling. “Leave him here.”  
“Cambell is fond of Torres,” Natasha said, “or as fond of a cellmate as you can possibly get.”  
“I’m surprised they haven’t shanked yet.” Tony aid mulishly, still upset that Bruce would doubt Jarvis.   
Clint made a noise that sounded like a combined snort and a disapproving ‘Stark’. “It’d be difficult making sure they both don’t bring down the entirety of the United St- screw that, _world_ – around them, but Loki could easily maneuver Cambell around.” Clint said.  
“Or we could bring in agent Malott to actually do her job as Torres.” Fury said to the ceiling.  
“We could set Thor up as close as possible; multiple agents, the whole shebang.”  
“We don’t even know if Cambell will head out to Norwell.”  
“ _Or_ we could get Malott to do her damn job.” Fury explained patiently to the hairline crack next to one of the ceiling lights.   
  
“I ran the entirety of Massachusetts through the system – there’s over four hundred family’s that share a last name with Cambell.”  
“We have no idea which last name is Cambell’s real last name. How many did they steal? Thirty six?”  
“Thirty eight.”  
“That’s not really that many.”  
“They’ve stolen over five hundred, but they have multiple accounts under these thirty eight names.”  
“Well shit.”  
“I’d say we let Loki out with Cambell, and just keep a damn good eye on them. Didn’t Thor say something about a magic thingy from something-heim that’ll root Loki to one realm or… plane of… reali… thing?”  
“Or we could get Malott – who can’t teleport and do magic shit – to do her goddamn job.” Fury said loudly.   
The table settled down after Fury’s outburst, and they all looked expectantly up to where the director sat at the head of the table.  
“It’s your call, boss.”  
  
~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~  
  
“Now, I’m not a conspiracy theorist-”  
The entirety of the Smith family present groaned out loud.  
“Hear me out-!”  
“Michael,” Mister Smith said, taking the break in dinner to shovel more mashed potatoes onto his plate. “Be quiet.”  
“Dad, seriously, people don’t just disap-”  
“Michael…” Mrs. Smith warned in her ‘don’t fuck with me’ mom voice.  
“ALIENS, GUYS. Jeez.”  
Mrs. Smith slammed her napkin down next to her plate with enough force to jolt the table and make a couple of glasses spill their contents. “I said enough,” she hissed.   
Bethany and Luke had their forks halfway to their mouths, and glanced nervously between their father and grandmother.   
“Is this cuz of-” Luke began.  
“No dear, eat your peas.”  
  
Bethany, though only twelve years old, was old enough to know damn well when people were avoiding certain subjects. Daddy had explained to her once that some people deal with problems differently – after mommy had torn down all the wallpaper in the family room in a fit of rage because the interior decorating man had made it the wrong color. Dad wanted to keep it and live with it. Mommy wanted it how she’d imagined it. Daddy wanted to talk through problems to try to figure them out. Granny wanted to avoid talking about things that made her sad. Luke didn’t care either way, so he’d blurt out whatever came to his mind – which was why Bethany clamped her hand over his mouth when she heard him stage whisper ‘maybe-’  
  
~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~  
  
“Torres.”  
I glanced up from the cards in my hand to see one of the prison guards with a clipboard standing in the doorway. _Shit_ , _there goes me winning this rummy round.  
_ Torres twisted to look behind her, and I saw her hand - five queens and two jokers. _Little shit_.  
“You’re wanted for questioning.”  
A whispered “Ohmygod” came out under my breath before I could stop it, and I swear my heart followed up my throat next. Torres looked equally stunned.  
“What for?” She asked defensively, slowly rising to her feet.   
“Come with me.” The guard said, pulling out some handcuffs from his back pocket. Two more guards materialized out of thin air behind him, and stepped into the cell.  
“What the fuck.” Torres and I hissed in unison.  
  
They grabbed her roughly by the upper arms and pulled her wrists behind her back before slipping the handcuffs into place.   
“What the _hell_?” she snapped angrily, twisting in their grasp.   
Again, like back during the first week of elimination, I had the urge to run up to the guards and just _shove and run._ Just like last time, though, I found myself with my back against the wall instead, and watching wide eyed as the guards dragged an absolutely furious inmate down the hall and through a door.   
Torres was shrieking and screaming obscenities, and it wasn’t until the door down the hall thudded with finality that I realized I was hyperventilating. And shaking. And absolutely fucking mad as hell.   
“Torres?” I muttered, still trying to get a grip on what was going on.  
Was she in trouble? Or… getting blamed for my crime? I was okay with someone else taking the fall but why the hell did fate pick _Torres_?

“Cambell?” Another guard came though, flanked by two more. “Please come quietly,” he said in a voice that I’d probably use on a spooked animal.   
  
It worked. They clipped my arms behind my back and the only resistance I put up as they led me through the heavy door at the end of the hall was a sigh. _God, I’m pathetic –  what the fuck am I going back here for? They know, don’t they? Fuck.Or… elimination week? No. They definitely know. I’m fucked. So fucked. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-  
_ We paused on the threshahold to an area that could best be described as the reception room for the doctors – nasty disinfectant smell and everything. There was even a secretary with long red talons that made terrifying ‘tick tick’ sounds as they stabbed the keyboard.   
“Cambell.” The main guard behind me informed the secretary.   
“Have a seat,” Secretary said, fingers never ceasing their attack. “The director will be ready in a few minutes.”  
“Director?” I asked in a small voice as I was pushed and pulled into a plastic chair against the wall. _Oh God._  



	14. Chapter 14

The director was not ‘ready in a few minutes’. He took a good couple of hours, if my internal clock was anything to go by. It took them so long, in fact, that by the time that they motioned me into the adjoining room I was relieved rather than frightened simply because my ass and thighs had become numb a couple of hours before.  My legs even wobbled a bit when I straightened up, and it took every ounce of strength not to let my knees knock as well when I saw Torres – looking dismal and defeated – pass me on her way out of the room. She didn’t even look me in the eye; just kinda gazed at the floor and let the guards manhandle her out of sight.    
  
Just as well she distracted me for a few seconds though, because it gave me ample time to be seated at the foot of a long wooden table without panicking internally first. It was only when I realized that the seat was quite comfortable that my head shot back up and I was forced to face the reality that was the Avengers at the opposite end of the table.   
  
I always thought the Avengers were pretty badass. I mean, never in a million years did I think that angering SHIELD would incur their wrath as well, but I guess they were everyone’s lapdogs nowadays. I kept that thought to myself though. Still, to be on the receiving end of their combined death glares was not a good feeling. Not to mention that Fury, who looked less than pleased at the head of the table, seemed to be oozing barely contained physical violence if that made _any_ sense at all. If he had a superpower, it’d definitely be telekinesis; he could beat the shit out of anyone just by glaring at them. Long story short, I was terrified. The Avengers looked fifty shades of livid and indifferent. Fury had the facial expression of a murderer trying to coax out his victim out of a locked room. I think I had a fairly blank look on my face, but for all I know I could have been grinning because I’m a nervous laugher and that’s just that.     
  
~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~  
  
Eight years of running blindly and throwing punches at thin air culminated to this moment. Fury was at least seventy five percent sure he was sitting opposite of the asshole who’d breached SHIELDs security measures, endangered countless lives, wasted millions of dollars, and made his agency the laughingstock of just about the entire world. The shit… that little _shit_ responsible for it all was at the end of the table, _smirking_. Fury resorted to clenching and unclenching his fist beneath the table instead of lunging and throttling the criminal across from him. Cambell must’ve noticed what he was doing, because the shit-eating grin only grew wider.  
  
“Cambell, A. …” Fury growled, tearing his gaze away from the inmates face to instead murder the case file with his eyes. “You’re wondering why you’re here.”  
Cambell – or A. Smith, as the file informed the director – raised their shoulders in a shrug and bit their lip like they were trying to keep in a fit of giggles. God, he hated their stupid smug face.   
“I guess,” Cambell answered quietly.   
Their voice was weird; more gravelly than their face gave away. Fury wondered if they smoked, but nothing in the file indicated any related smoking health issues… then again, their folder was missing basically everything from before the last two years.  “Well,” Fury continued, filing away their voice for later contemplation, “we’re here to make you an ultimatum.”   
Cambell quirked an eyebrow, and the lopsided grin wavered a bit.   
Fury leaned back in his chair and regarded her with thinly veiled animosity. “You’re free to go.” He said plainly.  
  
The opposite side of Cambell’s face finally caught up with the rest of it when their other eyebrow rose to join its friend, and the opposite corner of their mouth lowered out of its smirk. The mouth hanging slightly agape was a nice touch too, in Fury’s opinion – he couldn’t wait until they dropped the hammer and arrested them for real. He imagined they’d have the same expression that they did now.    
“If…” Fury continued a moment later.   
“If.” Cambell repeated, mouth closing and expression turning stormy.  
“If you agree to be put on probation for several months, during which time you will be disallowed from using any form of advanced technology. Think Internet, computers, smart phones…”   
“What about my blender.”  
“If your blender can connect to the internet, then no, there will be no smoothies for you.”  
There was a barely audible ‘fuck you’ from the other end, but Fury watched as Cambell weighed the options.   
“How many months exactly?” They asked.   
“One to two years.”  
  
“That’s not several mon… and how _exactly_ are you going to enforce that?” They asked agitatedly.   
Fury grinned and leaned onto an armrest. “We have our ways. Think of this as your very own freedom free trial – if you behave, we’ll let you be.”  
Cambell glared down the length of the table for a moment before speaking up again. “Are you letting other people out?” They asked.  
“That’s classified,” Fury said, “and classified means that only people with the right authority have privilege to view that information. But, since we think there’s a small chance that you _aren’t_ the one who doesn’t know the meaning of ‘classified’, we’ve decided to give you an early release.”   
Fury closed Cambell’s file and straightened the pages sticking out of the edges. “I hope,” he added slowly, “that you won’t make us regret our decision.”  
  
Cambell looked very much like they’d love to make Fury regret every decision, but the inmate wisely kept their mouth shut.   
“This is the part where you thank the board and I,” Fury said, nodding at the three Avengers to his right. “For graciously giving you a free pass given that we could charge you for multiple counts of fraud, identity theft, and God knows what else.”  
Cambell’s expression softened slightly as they glanced down to their lap.   
“You will be stripped of any remaining alternate titles, however, once you leave. It’ll be back to Smith once we’re done here.”  
Cambell visibly cringed, but nodded in agreement.   
“Good.” Fury said as cheerfully as possible. “This was a lot easier than what we went through with your friend.”   
Cambell glanced back up and the mention of Torres, and Fury took the opportunity to slide the rather thick ultimatum across the table. He watched as Cambell regarded the packet distrustfully before reaching out for it, and flipping the title page over to read its contents. The Avengers and SHIELDs director collectively got comfortable in their seats as one of the US’s most wanted criminals read through the entire packet of terms and conditions for their freedom.   
  
~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~  
  
Fury stood with his arms folded in another room as he eavesdropped in on the two gods arguing about timeframes. Loki was not happy that his time was being extended and that he’d be even further restrained despite being free of his cell.   
“It’s almost over, brother.” Thor pleaded quietly. “Their family is the only one you must concern yourself with.”  
Loki had hissed something inaudible back, to which Thor snorted and seemed to agree to, if Fury knew his confirmation snorts at all.   
“It’s just one prisoner being set free,” Thor’s voice faded as the two left the room. “The rest of them will help aid you; it’ll be over soon.”  
  
Fury remained hidden a moment longer before walking into the previously occupied room to gather up the papers still lying around. Today seemed to be going well for him so far. He’d informed some of SHIELDs better undercover agents that they’d be released and tasked with shadowing Cambell and Loki. Obviously not as a group – that’d look weird, but thankfully Natasha had taken it upon herself to better organize them. Fury was more of a ‘forest’ than a ‘tree’ person when it came to taking in the big picture, so the agents were in better hands with Widow anyways. The only thing he was really concerned about was Loki (as always) and whether or not the god of mischief was going to ruin his plans. Cambell – Smith, whatever – needed to be arrested with enough evidence to prove without a doubt that they were the culprit. The whole affair needed to be publicly announced and put to bed so that it would just _stop_.   
  
Fury dumped the few remaining papers into the recycling bin at the door. They were halfway there; at least they had a clearer idea of who the culprit was.   
  
~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~

  
None of it really sank in until I was about five miles into New Mexico and bumping down a dusty highway in the worlds loudest and least air conditioned repurposed schoolbus. I had the sudden urge to whoop and do a little dance, but I stifled that urge and packaged it up for celebration at a later date. Despite being set free, the rest of the ex-convicts and I all remained silent on the ride down to the nearest town where we’d be unceremoniously deposited and left to fend for ourselves. I got twenty bucks out of it from SHIELD, at least. It was enough to buy a bus pass once I got into town. Or buy a phone call home and get mom and dad to fly me back home. Or a small hotel room for a night. Holy shit I can _leave_.   
  
Torres sat on the bench across the aisle from me, as quiet as the rest of us. I wanted to talk to her – I wanted there to be some sort of sound in this bus besides the rattle of the windows and our teeth. It was unnerving. Also it was unnerving because everyone had resorted to awkward eye contact instead of talking. I’d caught a few ex-convicts glancing at me out of the corner of their eyes… but to be fair I was doing some serious eye-fuckery in Torres’ direction as well because she _refused to look at me_. I mean jeez – it blew my mind that we both managed to be set free at the same time because I don’t think there were any other people in this bus who had their bunkmate let go as well. Most of their faces were familiar to me… maybe not all of their names but definitely their faces, so I think I knew who was or was not their bunkmate.   
  
The drive didn’t take that long; it was just fifteen minutes before a short little city came into view when we crested a hill. I twisted in my seat and looked out the back window to see how far we’d come. The penitentiary was just barely visible through the dust and the haze, but I could make out its five towers, electric fences, and grey monotonous brick walls. For a building so big and wide, it looked strangely… very much _in_ place in the desert here. It was weird, and for some unknown reason I felt attached to it. Thankfully that lapse in sanity only lasted a second before I sat back down in my seat and eagerly awaited the bus stop.   
  
Torres finally looked over at me once I’d settled and quirked a brow at my shenanigans, to which I replied with an uncaring shrug. Her weirdly animated facial expression told me that she didn’t believe me, which earned her an aggressive shrug and an eyeroll. Her eyeroll back at me was nearly audible. _Fuck you_ , I mouthed, and set about checking my grey backpack’s zippers so that its negative one contents didn’t fall out. There was literally nothing in my bag, but a guard gave it to me as I left and I thought it was a nice memento to have to remember these last couple of months by. All I needed was a button that said ‘ _I went to SHIELD jail and all I got was this stupid pin_!’. The bag even had a SHIELD logo on the front pouch. Again, I was already weirdly attached to the dumb thing.  
  
We came to a slow stop about ten minutes later, and since Torres and I were second to last, we had to wait while the slow people in front of us tried to figure out where the exit was. I swear to God some of these people were so confused, they didn’t know if it was Tuesday or North Dakota. Anyways. After that nonsense, Torres and I dropped to the ground and got a face full of dirt as the bus dusted its hands of us and all but tore out of the opposite end of town. Literally. The opposite end of town was about two blocks away; it was a very small place. Torres seemed to know her way around at least (or could read signs anyways) and headed towards the bus station. I found myself mentally reminding myself to catch up and take larger steps as her ridiculously long legs carried her down the road.   
  
“So,” I asked, huffing a bit ( _not_ from exertion) because of the heat and the dust and my allergies. “When you get your pass, where’re you going?”  
Torres was quiet for a moment before she seemed to mentally shrug. “Not sure.”  
It was uncomfortable when we arrived in the, thankfully, blessedly air conditioned bus station, because every other excon that just got off the bus was there too. It was weird because none of the civilians here knew that ninety percent of the room’s inhabitants may or may not have stolen their credit cards at one point… or their names... _awkward_. Either way, Torres and I queued up.  
  
“Where do you think you’ll go?” Torres asked.   
I was staring up at the sign that listed the cost for tickets, so it took a second for it to register that Torres was talking to me. “Well, I dunno…” I said sluggishly, “but I don’t think twenty bucks’ll get me across the states.” I waved agitatedly in front of my face in a vain attempt to cool myself down faster. “I think I’ll just head over to Austin – I’ve got some family there – and call my parents.” _When in doubt, run crying to mom and dad… works every time._ “What about y- oh wait, I asked already… my bad.”  
Torres frowned. “I have a similar problem.” She confessed. “I live in Massachusetts, but I don’t have any family between here and there.”  
“OH MY GOD!” I whispered hoarsely in an attempt to keep myself from yelling in excitement. “I live in Massachusetts too! Where’re you from?”  
Torres grinned down at me, “Plymouth.”  
“You mean you lived, like, twenty minutes away from me and never said anything?!”  
“You’ve never asked.”  
“Me?!” I said stupidly, but was still too excited to be offended. “This is so cool! We can be roomies!”  
  
And then it hit me. Why the hell would Torres want to be flatmate’s when we literally just got out of the worst flatmate situation imaginable? “Wait…” I corrected slowly, “never mind.”  
“No?” Torres asked, sounding almost hurt.  
“I mean.” I said as I stepped forward to the teller and asked for a ticket to Austin. “We just got out of being roomies; I don’t think you’d want to do it again. Buuut!” I said excitedly and turned to her. “You can come with me to Austin and we can ride back home together.”  
Torres paused for a moment before nodding and stepping up to the counter. “I’d like that.” She said.  
“Good, ‘cause I was going to complain if you didn’t.”  
Torres did the non-eyeroll eyeroll that could be felt even if she had her back turned towards you. She bought her tickets without incident, and after we’d gotten out of line we stood near the door and enjoyed our last few seconds of air conditioning.   
“We’ve still got a couple of hours before we leave, and I don’t feel like just sitting here,” I informed her. “Are ya hungry?” I asked after she’d stuffed her tickets into her bag.   
“I suppose,” she replied disinterestedly.   
  
  
“They have like a… Dennys… diner type thing on the corner there.” I said, looking out the window embedded in the door.  
Torres glanced down the street in surprise before making an undignified snort-laugh and nodding. “Yes. I love that eatery.”  
“You’ve been before?” I asked over my shoulder. I noticed two of the other convicts making their way over to Torres. “Friends…?” I murmured.  
Torres caught my eye and straightened to look behind her.  
“Torres.” One of them greeted.   
“Henry.” She replied stiffly.   
“Heard you’re traveling to Massachusetts as well.”  
“You’ve been paying attention well then, haven’t you?”  
  
For some reason, that really rustled Henry’s jimmies, and he frowned behind his overly tinted aviators.  
“We’re headed out that way too,” Henry’s friend quickly explained to me. Or. He looked at me while he said it, I don’t know. I’m never included in these conversations so it threw me off when he addressed me.   
“Good to hear.” Torres said. She turned heel at that point, and literally sassed her way out the door.   
“Uh,” I said cleverly. “Later? Where you headed?” I asked as I backpedaled – mostly to ease over Torres’ rudeness.   
“Boston.” Henry’s friend replied again.   
“Cool, cool.” I said, still reversing out the door. “Well, we’re gonna make a slight detour, but when we get home give us a call, kay?” I said.   
“Yeah!” Henry’s friend said enthusiastically. “Here’s my number!”  
“Uh.” I said, and paused awkwardly in the doorway. “I can just… look you up…”  
“No, no, here, it’s no problem!” he quickly tore off a scrap of paper from what looked like the map of New Mexico (that he probably got from the visitors pamphlet case) and scrawled his number. “Here,” he said, thrusting the map and pen in my direction once I took his number. “Give me yours; I can hook you up when we get home.”  
_Hook me up with… what?_ “’Kay…” I said, writing my old cell phone number in the Rio Grande. I doubted it still worked. “Good luck getting home…” I said, finally managing to get out the door.  
“See you!” He said cheerfully.    
  
_Hopefully not,_ I grumbled under my breath. Torres was waiting for me under the diner’s awning, and she had her resting angry face in place again.   
“Sorry,” I muttered, pulling open the door for her. “They were being super awkward.”  
Torres said nothing, but slipped inside and stood at the ‘wait to be seated’ sign. No idea why that was there – the place was nearly deserted.   
“Just have a seat anywhere!” A disembodied voice shouted from the kitchen area, “We’ll be with you in a minute.”  
“Booth,” I ordered as Torres stalled, apparently overcome with too many options. “Preferably one not situated in the sun.”  
She ended up choosing one against the wall that had a fairly decent view of the road outside. While we waited for our menus and waiter, I took the time to finally settle and take everything in and reorganize the mess in my head. I started with the things in my field of vision.  
  
Torres and I had been released from prison. We were in a diner that would’ve been cute in a quiet old town, but ended up looking tired in the middle of the desert instead. There was a sticky stain under my right wrist. Probably coffee... _hopefully_ coffee. Torres and I were going to Texas by bus. I’d figure something out once we got to auntie Elia’s house. I’d pet her overly friendly dog. I’d call mom and dad. I’d get home and crash at their place. Maybe I’d explain where I’d been when I arrived. Maybe I’d wait a day. I’ll drive over to my apartment at some point – if I still have it. I haven’t paid rent for a while on account of my incarceration. I’d get a new apartment if necessary… Damnit - probably with my parent’s money. I need to figure out my bank account. Does an ATM count as advanced technology? The terms said I could access my funds by they didn’t mention anything about ATMs. It’s probably advanced. I mean… I can steal money from it. But I’d need access to other ‘advanced technology’ first to steal from it, so really the ATM should be a go. _Nyeeeegh_ but I don’t want to be arrested agai-  
  
“What are you thinking about so hard?” Torres interrupted. “I can practically hear those rusty gears turning.”  
“First of all, you’re being very rude.” I said, unsticking my wrist from the table. “Secondly, I’m trying to figure out some long term stuff and how the hell I’m supposed to get more money.”  
Torres gave me a shrug that told me she was not currently concerned about the state of her funds.   
“I mean, besides blowing dudes behind the pop machine for twenty bucks.”  
Torres gave me a hard look that said _something_ before we were interrupted by our waitress – or rather the menus – that she planted in front of our faces.  
“Orange juice, milk, coffee, water, tea, lemonade, Pepsi products, what’ll it be?”  
“Coffee, please.” I said, frowning at the options on the menu like they’d personally offended me.  
“Same.” Torres said.   
“Great I’ll be right back” The waitress said monotonously.   
Torres watched the older lady trudge back towards the kitchen before leaning towards me to simper, “She enjoys her line of work.”  
“Sounds to me like she’s repeated that line about fifty lines a day – I think I’d be bored too.” I muttered in her defense.  
“Really?” Torres asked. “You seem the type who also enjoys mindless, repetitive tasks.”  
“Why do you randomly get so bitchy.”  
“I’m not bitchy.” Torres snapped, glaring at the menu.  
“You are.” I said angrily, and flicked my own laminated sheet downward to better glare at Torres’ forehead. “Ever since that Henry guy showed up.”  
  
Torres muttered something and I glared a second longer before blowing the awkward interaction off as another ‘Torres Moment’. They were beginning to occur more and more frequently these last couple of weeks. I do have a patience meter – and its very flexible… but sooner or later Torres is probably going to go off the deep end and we’ll both end up snapping. We’d make good long distance friends, though. Maybe. I might forget to call after a month or two. Whatever. _I’m so excited; I just got out of jail_!  
“I’m so excited I just got out of jail.” I said, slightly tearing the celebration box seal that I’d hidden away in the back of my mind.  
Torres ignored me, and set her menu down, having apparently decided on what she wants. I was still torn between the tex-mex omelet and pancakes. I hadn’t had decent pancakes in a while, but I wasn’t quite feeling the ‘nearly dessert’ vibe right now. I went with the omelet. Not that I could order; the waitress had disappeared.   
  
A movement at the opposite end of the room caught my eye, and I glanced over to the trucker who’d just walked out of the bathroom and reseated himself. The normalcy of the situation threw me off, and for a brief second I wondered if it – the trucker or this whole situation – was a trap.  
“Do you think…” I asked softly as the trucker took a sip from his mug. “You think there’re spies here… or something? Watching us?”  
Torres gave me one of her steely brown eyed frowns, which cracked into the wickedest grin a second later. “I wouldn’t be surprised.” She said without any hint of fear. “How else are they going to make sure we don’t disobey the law?”  
“Oh shit man.” I muttered, pulling up the menu to shield my face from the trucker, “How the hell do I not use technology for seven years? If they know when I use it… that’s so long! I’ll go back to jail next week!”  
“I doubt it’ll be that long.” Torres muttered, leaning in behind my menu as well.  
“Really? How long did Fury give you? He told me no technology for one to two years, but his ultimatum said seven – just as well I read the damn thing.”  
Torres shrugged and said, “I’ve only got a year.”  
“Lucky asshole. Guess I stole one too many credit cards.”  
“Or you hacked SHIELD.”  
“According to Fury I’m probably not guilty of that.”  
“…‘According to Fury’, ‘probably’…?” Torres repeated, grinning.  
“Shut up you’re supposed to be on my side. Besides, I bet you’re just trying to throw me off the fact that you hacked them.”  
“You’re being awfully defensive.” Torres muttered. There wasn’t much of an accusation behind her words, but the truth of it still smarted.   
“I’m… so not defensive.”   
“Woah,” Torres said, leaning back against her side of the booth and raising her hands in a placating gesture, “you got me there.”  
  
“God,” I hissed, slapping the menu down as the waitress arrived with our coffee.   
“Ready to order?” She drawled.  
“Yeah, I’ll have the tex-mex omelette.” I said.  
“White or brown bread?” Waitress replied ( _where is her nametag_?).  
“White. Please.”  
“You?” she asked, addressing Torres this time.  
“Strawberry crepes.”   
“It’ll be out in a sec.” Waitress said pithily, and left with our orders and menus.  
Trucker waved her over, which waitress ignored in favor of yelling our orders into the kitchen. She got the resounding clatter of what sounded like fifty pot lids crashing to the floor, and a meek ‘sorry’ a couple seconds after the din ceased. Trucker laughed.  
“This place is filthy.” Torres complained, wiping the rim of her mug.  
“Nah, it’s just extra protein,” I said cheerfully. She did not look impressed, and took her coffee straight up black without any sugar, which was surprising given her already established sweet tooth.   
“That’s disgusting, Tor.” I muttered into my normal looking coffee.   
“So are you.” She quipped.  
I could never win this war of words.   
  
~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~  
  
Loki was pleased, at least, that he was now out in the open. He was overly full from the breakfast though; he had expected a much smaller serving - not an entire dinner plate full of sweetened berries, foam, and pastry. Naturally, he blamed his stomach and the warm sun for the reason his eyes refused to stay open once he and his charge had boarded the bus. Cambell had the aisle seat next to him, so he took full advantage of the window and used it as an unyielding pillow. Cambell settled with tilting their neck at an awkward angle and shutting their eyes. They were not going to enjoy waking up in several hours if they remained in that position.  
  
The bus had departed at seven that evening. They should arrive in Cambell’s relation’s hometown sometime around seven in the morning as well, and if Loki knew Fury at all, he’d be busy setting up base somewhere in Norwell right now. Cambell wouldn’t know what hit them... that is, if Loki could get them to go along with his plan. It sounded an _awful_ lot like coercion when Fury had explained the plan to him, but who was he to stand in the way of Midgardian justice?   
Loki made a self-deprecating snort at that idea, and settled deeper into his seat. There was not much to look at out of the busses window, and he grew tired of glaring at the reflection that was not his. _A year at most_ , he thought wistfully.    
  



	15. Chapter 15

It was a relief to get off the bus – I’d spent most of the night alternating between nodding off with my mouth agape, and staring off into the distance with bleary eyes. I was exhausted, and the only thing on my mind was getting in touch with my aunt and hopefully finding a way back home. Unfortunately, I had no idea what my aunt’s number was (darn you, crippling reliance on technology to store that for me) and had to raid a nearby post office for their copy of the phone book. Torres had refused to go in with me – said it smelled (which was incredibly rude, and she said it quite loudly right as someone walked passed as well) – so I left her outside with and cast an apologetic smile to whoever I thought might've heard. I was, to be completely honest, quite tired of bringing her with me; she’s always in such a sour mood. I figured getting out of prison would fix that, but apparently its her natural state. Its just… very hard to be friends with her.

In the end, however, I managed to get a hold of my aunt using a pay phone and some change I got from the post office cashier. There was a lot of “My dears!” And “Where have you beens?” I tried to keep the conversation short, and promised to explain everything once I got there. I thanked my lucky stars that my family was so overbearingly sweet and helpful – she insisted on coming down to pick Torres and I up, and refused to hear anything to the contrary. Torres and I piled into her car two hours later (I told Torres to behave just before we got in, to which she just smirked) and headed off to my aunt’s home.

I later realized how much I should have cherished those few hours on the bus and with my aunt – they were the last truly peaceful moments when I truly believed that I was free. The calm before the storm to speak. The problem is, you never know it’s the calm before the storm until after the storm is over; and unfortunately for me, this shitstorm had barely even started.

END PART ONE 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this chapter is less of a chapter and more of a transition point. I’ve been struggling to come up with more story for this, and I realized it was because I was thinking of this as a whole thing instead of a single part of many. It’s easier, IMO, to think of it as a part two that sorta requires you to read part one, but not totally. The second part of this story is obviously going to cover Cambell and Torres’s fun ride outside of the penitentiary. Expect vague computer jargon, high speed chases, criminal stuff, and finally some Avenger action. They’ve been too quiet.


	16. Chapter 16

“What… happened?” I asked incredulously.   


Torres cocked an eyebrow and inclined her head towards the abandoned apartment complex. “You mean this isn’t what your home usually looks like?” She asked.   
  
We’d just gotten off the bus (paid for by my aunt, after much insistence from her end) and stepped out into the sidewalk before my old apartment and took in the awful scene. The building and parking lot were completely bare – windows blown out and boarded up, trash bags and garbage strewn here and there, scraggly grass poking hopefully through the cracks – it looked like a bomb went off.  

 

“Where the hell are my all neighbors?” I wondered aloud, ignoring Torres. “Did SHIELD do this? Why would SHIELD do this?” I kicked away a loose chunk of asphalt as I walked up to one of the lower level windows.  

 

Torres gave a huff of annoyance and stepped delicately around a toppled plastic patio chair to squint through the dirty glass with me. “This place is filthy.” She muttered.

 

A thin layer of dust and grime clung to the windows and the vinyl siding of the apartment’s walls – turning the original light tan coloring a darker brown. There were piles of garbage and broken bits of furniture at random intervals as well. The whole place gave off a strange dystopian vibe.  

 

“This one was mine,” I muttered, blowing away some of the dust from the windowpane. “Was I robbed…?” A cold weight settled in my gut the second those words left my mouth. “ _Oh fuck_ ,” I whispered.

 

“Where are you off to now?” Torres called after me as I sprinted down the open air corridor and around the side to the back doors.

 

 _They cannot have found it. They did not find it. They cannot have found it…_ I repeated the mantra over and over in my head to calm myself as I located my apartments backdoor. I was partially relieved to find that when jiggled the knob, the door did not swing open. Unfortunately that also meant I couldn’t get inside. Torres stopped a few paces out and watched as I stalked back and forth while trying to come up with a plan.   
  
“Left the stove on?” She asked after a tense minute passed.

 

“I need to get inside.” I muttered.

 

“Kick the door down.”  
  
“It’s made of _metal_ and _wood_ , Torres.” I hissed angrily.   
  
“Break the kno-”  
  
“No!” I yelped a bit too loudly. Torres looked taken aback, and I rubbed awkwardly at the back of my neck. “I, uh, don’t want to make it obvious I was here?” _Wow. Good one. Not suspicious at all._

 

Torres looked unconvinced, but smiled wickedly and pulled out one of the two clips holding her hair back from her face.   
  
I looked between her feral grin and the small clip and scowled. “That’s bullshit. You can’t open a locked door with a hairclip, just like you can’t climb through air ducts. Hollywood horseshit; it doesn’t hold up.” I sniffed haughtily and looked away, but watched her out the corner of my eye as she knelt before the door.

 

I hoped she would prove me wrong. She did, too; the door gave a satisfying click a moment later. Torres stood and casually pushed it open.

  
I had no idea how to respond to this blatant defiance of what I thought was common knowledge, so I shut my mouth and passed meekly under Torres’ gaze (I didn’t look, but I bet you ten bucks she was smirking. Again.) I tried not to let on how grateful I was as well. I have a mask to keep up (its slowly slipping, honestly).

 

“Quite a place you’ve got.” She said a moment later, passing me to look at some crooked photos hanging on the wall. It was some random things – a picture of me and a buddy posing next to my university’s mascot, my dog I had when I was younger, my brother and his wife at their wedding, the old Windows desktop background, a fancy ham sandwich. I pretend I’m artistic.

 

What was not artistic was what looked like an actual _scorch_ mark in the carpet on my stairs. Someone came in here with a flamethrower or something. I tuned everything out for a moment, and turned my attention to the back door. I pretended to fiddle with the lock while I waited for Torres to leave and ignore my clearly guilty behavior. _Please, please still be here…_ I shook the handle a bit harder and felt it give way. After a couple of tense seconds I broke out into a cold sweat and abandoned stealth to instead twist the inner handle viciously out of its socket.

 

“What _are_ you doing?”

 

“Fuck! Torres!” I spun around and snapped angrily at her, “go fucking… look in the lounge or something! You’re always breathing down my neck like goddamn just go do something else!”  
  
We glared at each other for a second before Torres turned silently and walked up the short flight of stairs into the area that served as my dining room and lounge. She was pissed, naturally; but I was far too terrified to care.

 

I took a steadying breath and drew up the courage to pry the doorknob further out and squeeze a couple fingers in through the hole. Nothing was there. Of course nothing was there. The envelope and USB I’d hidden inside were gone, and – oh, look at that – my limbs were freezing cold. I leaned back against the door and willed my panicking heart and mind to calm _._

It wouldn’t.   
I can’t.

I’ll say this one more time; I’m a fantastic hacker and coder, but a _shit_ criminal. I’m not cut out for this level of stress and danger. I don’t _do_ fear very well.

But that might also have something to do with the fact that I am, actually, very, very guilty. I wonder if SHIELD knows.

 

I hung my head and climbed up my scorch marked stairs to join Torres. She was seated with her back towards me at my dining table. I was about to say something to her, but was distracted by the state of my home. I gazed wide-eyed around my living room, and dazedly wiped some dust off from the wall besides me. It left clean streaks. It was as bad inside as it was outside; my home honestly looked like it had been turned upside-down… I don’t think there was a single piece of furniture settled in its correct position. I walked slowly over to my roommate and righted the chair besides her, then settled in it. The back had been snapped off.

 

“Torres,” I began. I avoided looking at her and instead stared across the room at the hallway that leads to my room. “I had hidden some pretty bad stuff in a little hole in my door. It’s gone.”

                                                       

Torres said nothing.  
  
“I think SHIELD might have it. And I’m worried because I don’t think they’d actually let me out if they did… which means they must’ve let me out for a reason.”  
  
I felt her gaze land heavy on me, but I refused to meet it. “Are you saying that if they had whatever object was hidden, you would be convicted?”  

 

 _Don’t say you did it, don’t say you did it._ “I’m saying I don’t think they’d find me innocent enough to let go.”  
  
“So you _did_ break SHIELD?”  
  
“I never said that.”  
  
Torres huffed and leaned onto the table with an elbow. “But this object would lead them to belie- _know_ that you probably did?”

 

I did look over to her now. _Why the fuck are you so interested in my confession?_ “I’m saying that SHIELD might think it’s suspicious.” I said evenly in my best ‘drop it’ tone.

 

Torres looked – Angry? Frustrated? – But she let the conversation go, and I muttered a ‘sorry’ as I got up to scrounge around the rest of my apartment. _Guess I’m moving in with my parents again_. As much as I had missed them both, I still hadn’t come up with a way to smoothly tell them I’d been fucking arrested for _ALLEGEDLY_ breaking into SHIELD. I didn’t really want to go over to their house until I had my mind in order, and I kinda feel like I need my own space to do that.

After making my way around the rubble in a halfhearted attempt at finding some evidence as to what had gone on, I gave up. With an exhausted sigh, I dropped down onto one of the couch cushions that was lying haphazardly on the floor and put my head in my hands.

 

“M’ gonna be perfectly honest with you,” I mumbled at the ground, “I dunno what I’m s’posed to do next.”

 

There was a moment of silence, a shuffle of papers and debris, and Torres settled across from me.

 

“Also,” I said in afterthought, “where’s _your_ family? What’s your plan, huh? Where you gonna stay?”  
  
Torres picked up the crumpled magazine that lay besides her foot and flicked idly through it. “I don’t have any family.” She said plainly. “And I don’t want to talk about it.”

 

Weird. None whatsoever? Still, I felt bad for her – it must suck being alone like that. Or maybe they were actually really shitty and she got herself out? Or maybe she’s an orphan. Or she’s lying. “Well… uh…” I scratched awkwardly at the back of my neck again and squinted at the floor. “I’m sure my parents will let you… us… stay with them for a bit... until we get some money for a new place. If you want, anyways. You don’t have to stay.”

 

“I’d actually really appreciate that.” Torres looked over to me and gave one of her rare smiles.

 

I sighed and slapped at the ankle that she was nudging me with good naturedly. “How did we get into this?” I asked.

 

“I don’t know about you, but I stole a few ID’s.”  


“Strange. That’s what I did too.”  
  
“Liar.”  
  
I laughed and leaned back on the cushion. “I dunno how they found me, actually. I mean, I have some guesses, but…”

 

“Many small things.”

 

“That’s probably it.”

 

“Except for whatever was hidden in the door.”

 

“My back door,” I said gleefully, giving her a look.

 

She gazed blankly back at me.

 

“Get it?” I asked. “Backdoor? Back door?”

 

She didn’t get it.  
  
“Don’t you know what a backdoor is?”

 

“Of course I do.” She muttered, looking back down to the magazine.

 

“I feel like you don’t.”

 

She made a dismissive humming noise, and I was too tired to care about her and her nonexistent sense of humor.

 

~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~

 

After my brief existential crisis, I made my way slowly though my apartment and started throwing things into my backpack and the suitcase I’d stashed in my hallway closet. The closets door was actually in my kitchen. I’m not entirely sure how it got there.

 

Every room was wrecked. Whoever did this was really looking hard for something. My mirrors and pictures had been torn down (to look for safes, I realized later on), my bed had been overturned and torn to shreds, literally everything that was ever in a drawer was now on the floor, and every single paper seemed to have been read (including my trash paper – it’d been uncrumpled and everything). I’m wondering if SHIELD really was the one to take my USB though, because they were so violent here – but the doorknob didn’t show signs of force; it’d been replaced again. _Weird_.

 

My safe had its door sawn off. I can’t even remember what I kept in there. Passports and stuff. Paperwork, maybe. Some money. _I need money_.

 

“Torres!” I yelled from my room. “I need to go to the bank! You think SHIELD seized our money?”

 

“Why didn’t you check the bank sooner?” she asked a moment later from the doorway.  
  
“Why didn’t _you_ check sooner?” I muttered. “I bank with a credit union, and as far as I know they only exist in my hometown. And we can’t use ATMs, remember? I gotta go inside.”

 

Torres said nothing. I don’t think she actually knows what she’s doing, which is weird, because she oozes control somehow.

 

“I mean, I’m fairly certain that you have to take someone to court before you take their money, but I’m starting to think SHIELD can do whatever it wants.”

 

~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~

 

SHIELD had not, in fact, stolen my money (that was under my real name, anyways. Those fake names were gone). They did, however, steal my apartment. I went to the post office that was across from the bank and asked for my mail once I’d drawn enough to get a bus to my parents (as well as food). The owners of my apartment complex had apparently sold the place to someone else, who promptly evicted everyone (and sent me a letter saying that everything left in the apartment after 30 days will be forfeit) and then sold the entire thing to some business called ‘Bricks Unlimited’. Yellowpages told me that Bricks Unlimited was owned by someone named Bob N. Weave. Shady. As. Fuck. Name. It all seems like something SHIELD would do.

 

And all for my little ol’ apartment?

 

I feel pride and rage.

 

Also I technically just trespassed. And stole.

 

Fuck.

 

“Tor, let’s stop by your bank next.”

 

There was a pause in the shuffling next to me. “I don’t have one,” she said, looking disinterestedly over a cartoon illustrated map of Massachusetts that she’d plucked from a stand in the post office.

 

I stared hard at her. I mean, I understand trying to make sure you don’t leave a trace of your existence, but-

 

“All of my money was under false names. Everything’s been seized.”

 

“Ah. That makes sense. Sucks, though…” _What bullshit._

 

“I’ll repay you.”

 

I sighed internally. “Don’t worry about it; unless you start getting ridiculous.” _I’m such a nice person._

 

“I _will_ repay you.”

 

I smiled. “Alright, fine. Thanks.”

 

With that, we finally turned heel and headed deeper downtown. I remember that there was a bus station somewhere in the heart of the city. We’d have to walk, but at least this place wasn’t so big that it’d take forever to traverse. _Almost home_.

 

~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~

 

“So what can you tell me, based on the latest development?”

 

Fury looked down the table at the group assembled before him. Natasha, a few psychologists and psychiatrists, criminal profilers, two handfuls of people from several technological backgrounds, various military personnel, and a few defense intelligence officers that flew in (begrudgingly) from the pentagon that morning all stared back at him with various degrees of curiosity. Fury wondered what Tony Starks excuse for not showing up to this meeting would be. Last time it was ‘bees’. Fury was half convinced the man pulled his excuses out of a ‘Cards Against Humanity’ pack.   


“Which development?” an intelligence officer asked. “The one where you think you discovered the real culprit, or the one where you let that same culprit go?”

 

Fury kept his sigh to himself, opting instead to lean further onto the table and glare daggers at the man. “Yes.”

 

“An interesting one,” one of the psychologists piped up. “What made you come to those decisions?”

 

“A number of things. We’re also going off the hopes that Loki can somehow convince Cambell to recreate the virus and attack us again.”

 

“ _What_?”

 

“Right, _that_ makes sense. Let them go and force them to hack us again. Brilliant, Fury, truly brilliant.”

 

The chair squeaked as Nick Fury leaned back and appraised the intelligence officer that looked ready to jump out his seat.

 

“This is absolutely insane! You’re acting completely out of bounds of the law – if the virus even gets slightly out of hand- you’re, you’re…” his hands flailed in the general direction of the window, “putting the entire population at risk! They could force a generator meltdown, erupt dams, government sectors could be shut down! Power grid failures! Classified information compromis- _how_ is this a good idea? Not to mention you have an unstable god at the helm of an already unbalanced ship.”

 

Fury patiently waited out the uproar before continuing.

 

“I have to agree.” Said an elderly man to the officers left. “This is incredibly reckless. Not to mention that you failed to consult with any government sector before going ahead with this plan.”

 

Fury waited.

 

“Even if you go ahead with this… ‘controlled explosion’ of yours, you cannot promise that there won’t be collateral damage.”

 

“There’s already enough evidence to arrest Cambell as well as many others and put them away for life.”

 

“This witch-hunt of yours, Fury, is becoming tiresome.”

 

“I suggest you pick Cambell up and simply charge them with what we already know. All of them, in fact – everyone that’s still left in the penitentiary as well.”

 

There was a lull in the conversation, and Fury took the moment to speak.

 

“You’re all correct,” he agreed. “Except for you doctor.” He said, looking over to the psychiatrist who spoke last. “I can’t promise Cambell won’t break anything else, but you can be damned sure we’re working around the clock to make sure that when they do get into our system, the virus will act as we tell it to.”

 

“What’s even the purpose of this forced concession? Why let them go at all?”  
  
“If Cambell did it once, they can do it again,” Fury explained. “And when they catch them, they won’t be able to play innocent. SHIELD and the Avengers have not lost a battle yet, and we’re not gonna give Cambell the satisfaction of thinking they got away.”  
  
“It sounds to me like you might be doing this to protect your image, and the image of your organization.” A psychologist piped up. “Perhaps even at the expense of others.”

 

“You’re damn right. This thing has been hounding us for years – ‘the one that got away’. I can’t stand it. I want them humiliated, and I want this to come to an end. Permanently.” Fury’s gaze swept the room. “This is a courtesy call to let you all know what I am doing… also to ask for your input.”

 

“Now he asks…” Someone muttered.

 

Fury made a show of flipping open the dossier in front of him, and the rest of the table took his que and followed suit.

 

“This is everything we know about Cambell – family, medical history – notice the lack of anything substantial before eight years ago; as well as employment history, general observations from Loki, and some psychiatric notes courtesy of Doctor Leighman who is…” Fury glanced up and around the table. “Not here.”

 

“How did Dr. Leighman arrive at these results? I don’t remember you mentioning any formal testing…?”

 

“These are all purely observational. I had the doctor focus on Cambell when we began suspecting them to be the hacker.”

 

“Narcissism? ISTP? Prone to violence? These are rather grand conjectures.”

 

“Didn’t say they were good observations,” Fury muttered. He was partially convinced Leighman was just writing things down for the accolades and the chance to say ‘I analyzed the greatest cybercriminal’. “That’s why I’ve brought you all in. We need fresh eyes watching this criminal now that they’re out in the open. We’ve got agents and ears in most places, but like you’ve said, we can’t be everywhere and we can’t account for everything.”

 

“I think,” one of the psychologists muttered, “the problem you’re having is that you’re trying too hard to pigeonhole Cambell. Maybe they’re nothing at all besides clever and cautious. You forcing them into a category limits your ability to see the bigger picture.”

 

“Which is?”

 

“They might just be lucky, and you’ve been giving them too much credit.”  
  
“And then we underestimate them when we give them too little credit.” Fury couldn’t help the edge that crept into his voice.

 

One of the profilers flipped a page over loudly and cleared his throat to interject. “I’ve found that it’s usually the simplest answer that’s the correct one. I understand that most of the information you’ve gathered about Cambell’s personality so far comes from their time inside the prison, and speculations. If they’re to be out, let’s watch them in the real world before coming to a consensus. I have to agree though…” he said with a nod to the psychologist on his right. “Either you’re missing some vital information, or Cambell’s fate swings wildly between ‘very lucky’ and ‘very unlucky’.”  
  
“And what would this ‘vital information’ look like?” Fury asked.

 

“How is it that Cambell’s almost always in the right place at the right time? Agent Jennifer Malott’s food poisoning lead to Loki being placed directly in Cambell’s cell. Cambell was also the last person to be rounded up during the first testing phase – what were they doing? There were instances when they were hiding in camera blindspots for minutes at a time – how did they know where those blindspots were, and what were they doing? Nothing of note was found in their home. Loki mentioned a radio - how did Cambell manage to get a hold of it, and who gave it to them? Five other people were arrested from the same apartment block that Cambell stayed in – but neither Cambell nor that group of five acknowledged one another while incarcerated. Why not? Surely they knew their own neighbors. There are things that Cambell seems to be aware of, but is purposefully avoiding even _looking_ at or acknowledging – maybe even lying to themselves about it. They’re the unreliable narrator to their own life.”

 

“Or they’re very lucky and unlucky.” An officer said.

 

“Or we’re missing something.” Fury countered.  
  
“The penultimate trait of narcissists and megalomaniacs is that they both have no qualms about manipulating the truth to get people to see things their way. The last one is that they always lie. To themselves. To you.” The profiler closed his dossier and tapped the pen back into its clip on the side. “Sometimes, they even manage to delude themselves into false beliefs – then it’s really hard to spot their lies, because they so honestly believe them to be true.”

 

“So what are they going for, ultimately?” Fury asked.

 

“Power. Sympathy. Respect. Any number of things.”

 

“What’re the chances of getting one megalomaniac to convince another to potentially get themselves into trouble again?”

 

“Slim to none. They’d be giving up power if they allowed themselves to be manipulated.”

 

“Cambell can’t ‘allow’ it if they don’t know it’s happening.”

 

“True. And Cambell has been very accommodating towards Loki so far. Or, Torres.”

 

“Loki’ll have to make it seem like its Cambell’s idea, then.” Fury mused.

 

“And _you_ have to make sure you’re not manipulated from afar.”

 

Fury gave a derisive snort.

 

~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~

 

The sun was starting to set as we made our way further downtown to find some transportation to my parents. The bus station didn’t have any busses going out that way until tomorrow afternoon, but if we waited four hours, we could take a train… then a cab… then another cab…

 

“This is getting expensive.”

 

“Grand theft auto is starting to seem like a viable-”  


“Shut up Tor, they’re watching us.” I couldn’t help the paranoid eye shift I made as I looked over my shoulder to some sleepy-looking patrons huddled on the train stations plastic benches.

 

Torres snorted and went back to inspecting her nails. A quiet ‘this place is filthy,’ drifted by a moment later.

 

“You think everything is filthy.”

 

“Sorry, what was that?” She asked.

 

I sighed tiredly and motioned at the TV that listed the train times. “Stop being annoying and help me find a train to Plymouth.”

 

“And when we get to Plymouth?”

 

“Cab to Norwell.”

 

“But this train heads straight to Norwell,” Torres said, motioning to one of the rows at the bottom of the screen.

 

“Yeah, tomorrow afternoon. I want to leave now.”

 

“Hm.”

 

“Let’s just… ugh.” I frowned at the screen and thought hard about what to do next. “Maybe we just take the bus, and call from a payphone in the station for my parents to pick us up. Might not be the best idea to just rock up on the doorstep…”

 

Torres shrugged and wandered off towards an open bench along the wall. _She’s so fucking useless_. I, instead, approached the way-too-happy ticketmaster and got us on the bus to Plymouth. _I can’t wait for this to be over_.   
  
~~~~~~~01100101 01011000 01100101 00100000~~~~~~~  
  
Loki watched as Cambell walked over to the payphone at the end of the long hall, then inserted some coins and picked up the phone. Intense curiosity settled over him as he watched them shift uncomfortably from foot to foot before speaking in hushed whispers. They’d been upset ever since they’d visited their old home – mostly, it seems, because SHIELD had taken some incriminating evidence. An odd development, considering Fury never mentioned anything of the sort. Perhaps it had been stolen. Either way, Cambell was skulking around much in the same manner that Loki himself remembered doing as a child when he was sure there was no way he could weasel himself out of a situation.

 

It had barely even been four days, and Cambell was already falling apart. It was, quite frankly, disappointing. He expected more from them. Still, this was better than being locked up – on Earth or in Asgard – and it did provide him with some entertainment. _Speaking of entertainment_ …

 

Loki turned over the watch that Cambell had given him earlier when they’d broken into a few other apartments in the block. ‘No one’s gonna know,’ they’d insisted. Loki wondered why Cambell chose those five suites in particular; they must’ve held some importance. He was sure Cambell was looking for something, but he didn’t want to let on just how close he was keeping an eye on them. Therefore, it seemed counterintuitive to ask if they needed help searching. Campbell’s demeanor, however, had not changed from suite to suite, so Loki was unsure if the item (or items) had been found.

 

But it _was_ a clever watch. Asgard had, of course, developed much more advanced technologies, but the watch was so ancient that it seemed almost innovative.

 

Loki settled back in his seat and tapped through the watch’s screen, trying to become accustomed to the various amenities that it offered. He was curious about its purpose, besides telling time. He almost wanted to ask how to use it, but Cambell seemed to be under the impression that he – or rather Torres – should know how it functions. A test, maybe? Cambell was becoming wary if that were so.

 

Loki glanced back up to find Cambell still at the phone, this time writing something on a scrap of paper. _What are you up to now?_ Loki wondered. A question he was starting to ask more frequently, and one that was becoming increasingly difficult to have answered the more and more Cambell withdrew. He was going to have to try a different approach. Cambell had been forced to rely on him (Torres, damnit) in prison, but now they were out and Cambell seemed eager – no matter how many fake smiles they gave – to get rid of him. The last thing Loki needs is for his target to ditch him.

 

Loki tapped the watch off and stared at its blank face contemplatively. He had to find a way to get Cambell to rely on him again, trust him, before it was too late. He was also slowly running out of options. He decided, in the end, to utilize some of the resources that Fury had afforded him. With a causal flick of his (Torres’) hair, he met the gaze of one of the undercover agents that sat across the room. With a tilt of his head, Loki discreetly motioned towards where Cambell stood, and then made a small gesture as if he was writing something small on his knee. The agent understood, and rose a moment later.  
  
Loki loved having henchmen.


End file.
